doctor, to my thinking; but we are like you soldiers, and
have our orders."

"Was my father up there when he was notified of his arrest," asks Abbot.

"No; Mr. Abbot has gone over to Senator Wilson's. He was met by a
messenger while standing in the office a while ago."

The major tugs his mustache in nervous perplexity a moment. He needs to
see the doctor. He cannot rest satisfied now until he has called upon
him, assured him of his sympathy, his faith in his innocence, and his
desire to be of service. More than that, he longs to tell him that he
believes it in his power to explain the whole complication. More and
more it is dawning upon him that he has had an arch-enemy at work in
this missing Hollins, and that his villainy has involved them all.

"Can I see Dr. Warren?" he suddenly asks.

"I don't know. I am not directly in charge, but I will ask Hallett, who
is up at the room now."

"Do; and come to my room and let me know as soon as you can."

In less than five minutes the officer is down at his door.

"I declare I wish you _would_ come up. It seems more than ever to me
that there's a blunder somewhere. The old man takes it mighty hard that
he should be looked upon as a spy by the government he has suffered so
much for. He says his only son was killed; captain in a New York
regiment."

"Yes, and I believe it. I knew him at college."

"Well, if that don't beat all! And now that pretty girl is all he has
left, and she's breaking her heart because she don't know how to comfort
him."

"Come on," says Abbot. "I know the way."

And, for a lame man, he manages to make marvellous time through the
hallway and up that little flight of stairs. The room door is open as
before. A man is pacing restlessly up and down the hall. There is a
sound of sobbing from within, and, never stopping to knock, Paul Abbot
throws off his cloak and enters.

She is bending over the bedside, mingling entreaty and soothing words
with her tears; striving to induce her raging old father to lay himself
down and take the medicine that the panic-stricken nurse is vainly
offering. The doctor seems to have but one thought--wrath and
indignation that he, the father of a son who died so gallantly, should
have been accused of so vile a crime; he has but one desire, to rise and
dress, and confront his accusers. If ever man needed the strong arm of a
son to rest on at this moment, it is poor old Warren. If ever woman
needed the aid and presence