f a man who could be a gentleman if he
chose, while to the surprise of Stiles the manner of the young man was
as disarmingly quiet and unconcerned as before, and as abstracted. He
could not believe that any man hovering on the brink of a terrible
catastrophe, and one to avert which required concealment of identity,
could be so unwary. He half believed the Swede was laboring under an
hallucination, and decided to be deliberate, and await developments
for the rest of the day.

After dinner they wandered out to the piazza side by side, and there
they sat and smoked, and talked over the political situation as
they had the evening before, and Stiles was surprised at the young
man's ignorance of general public matters. Was it ignorance, or
indifference?

"I thought all you army men would stand by Grant to the drop of the
hat."

"Yes, I suppose we would."

"You suppose so! Don't you know? I carried a gun under Grant, and I'd
swear to any policy he'd go in for, and what I say is, they haven't
had quite enough down there. What the South needs is another licking.
That's what it needs."

"Oh, no, no, no. I was sick of fighting, long before they laid me up,
and I guess a lot of us were."

G. B. Stiles brought his feet to the floor with a stamp of surprise
and turned to look full in the young man's face. For a moment he gazed
on him thus, then grunted. "Ever feel one of their bullets?"

"Oh, yes."

"That the mark, there over your temple?"

"No, it didn't do any harm to speak of. That's--where something--struck
me."

"Oh, you don't say!" Harry King rose. "Leaving?"

"No. I have a few letters to write--and--"

"Sorry to miss you. Staying in town for some time?"

"I hardly know. I may."

"Plans unsettled? Well, times are unsettled and no money stirring. My
plans are all upset, too."

The young man returned to his room and continued his writing. One
short letter to Betty, inclosing the worn scrap of paper the wind had
brought him; he kissed it before he placed it in the envelope. Then he
wrote one to her father and mother jointly, and a long one to Hester
Craigmile. Sometimes he would pause in his writing and tear up a page,
and begin over again, but at last all were done and inclosed in a
letter to the Elder and placed in a heavy envelope and sealed. Only
the one to Amalia he did not inclose, but carried it out and mailed it
himself.

Passing the bank on the way to the post office, he dropped in and made
quite a