epend upon it I'll bring you glad tidings in
less than no time, and have an end to these mysteries. Now try and
rest."

Then he turns to her. Can he ever forget the trust, the radiance, the
restfulness in the shy, sudden look she gives him? His heart bounds with
the sight; his pulse throbs hard as he holds forth his hand, and, for
the first time, her soft warm palm is clasped in his.

"Don't worry one bit, Miss Bessie; we'll have this matter straightened
out at once."

Then there is a pressure he cannot resist; a shy, momentary answer he
cannot mistake; and, with his veins all thrilling, Paul Abbot goes forth
upon his mission, leaving her looking after him with eyes that plainly
say, "There walks a demi-god."

At the office he is promptly ushered into the presence of three or four
men, two of them in uniform.

"Major Abbot, here is a packet of letters in a lady's hand, addressed to
you. They were found on Doctor Warren, in the very pocket where he
placed the package that was given him at Frederick. Have you lost such,
or can you account for them?"

"I can account for them readily," answers Abbot, promptly. "They are
mine, written by Miss Warren, and were stolen from me, as I believe; was
there no explanation or address?"

"Nothing but this," is the answer, and the speaker holds forth a wrapper
inside which is written these words:

"For your daughter. Ruined though I am, I can never forgive myself for
the fearful wrong I have done her. Tell her it was all a lie. He never
wrote, and she will never know the man who did."

Abbot stands staring at the paper, his hands clinching, his mouth
setting hard. No word is spoken for a moment. Then, in answer to a
courteous question, he looks up.

"It is as I thought. His villainy has involved others besides me. Doctor
Warren is no more spy than I am. This writing is that d----d scoundrel
Hollins's, who deserted from our regiment."

IX.

It is late that evening when Major Abbot returns to Willard's. He has
found time to write a brief note to the doctor, which it was his
intention to send by the orderly who bears the official order releasing
the Warrens from surveillance. It suddenly occurs to him, however, that
she may see the note. If so, what will be her sensations on finding that
the handwriting is utterly unlike that in which all her letters had come
to her. Abbot tears it into shreds, and contents himself with a message,
saying that he is compelled to see