sent to
you. Now that we are pushing every effort to detect and punish the
villain who has wrought this, and I fear other wrongs, such letters
will be most important evidence, and I conjure you to send them to
me by express at once. Father would come for them, but I need him
here. I do not seek to inquire into your personal correspondence,
Viva, but letters that bear upon this matter are of vital weight.

"As to my dismissal, may I not ask you to reconsider your words,
and, in the light of my assurance that I am innocent of the sin
with which you have charged me, permit me to sign myself, as ever,
lovingly and faithfully yours? PAUL."

It is no easy letter to write. He wants to be calm and just, and that
makes it sound cold and utterly unimpassioned. Beyond doubt she would be
far happier with a fury of reproaches, cutting sarcasm, and page after
page of indignant denial. He also wants to be tender when he thinks of
what he has not had to lavish on her in the past, and that prompts him
to the little touch of sentiment at the close--a touch that is perhaps
unwarranted by the facts in the case. There is a third matter, one that
he does not want to mention at all, a name he hates to put on any page
addressed to her; but he knows that it is due her she should be told the
truth, and at last, just as sunset is coming, he adds a postscript:

"I feel that I must tell you that Mr. Hollins has been missing ever
since Antietam, under circumstances that cloud his name with grave
suspicion. It is no longer concealed that his conduct and character
have left him practically friendless in the regiment, and that he
could not long have retained his position. He is not worthy the
friendship you felt for him, Viva; of that I am certain."

He is still pondering over this when his father comes in for a word or
two.

"I am going over to call at Doctor Warren's room and ask how he is.
Possibly he may be able to see me. Have you written to--"

And he stops. He does not feel like saying "Viva" to or of the girl who
has so misjudged his boy.

Abbot holds up the letter and its addressed envelope.

"Yes, and it must go at once or miss the mail."

"I'll post it for you, then, as I have to go to the office a moment,"
is the answer, and the elder stands looking at his son, while the latter
quickly scans the last page, then folds and encloses it. Paul smiles
into