ark just a little longer. I have tried to imagine
myself a friendless woman, such as I have often read about, and I
rather enjoy it. Love to Jim."

The Major was in his office when the letter was brought, and thither his
wife hastened to read it to him.

"What is it?" he asked as she entered the room. "A letter from Louise? I
don't want to hear it."

"John."

"I don't want to hear another crazy screed from her. Where is she? Is
she coming home? Read it."

During the reading he listened with one hand cupped behind his
ear--though his hearing was not impaired--and when the last word had
been pronounced, he said: "Likes to be mysterious, doesn't she? Well, I
hope she'll get enough of it. If her life has been so much influenced by
sympathy why has she felt none of that noble quality for us? Where is
she?"

"The letter doesn't say. It is not even dated, and it is not
post-marked."

"Did it come in a gale? Was it blown out of a mysterious cloud?"

"It came from the wood-yard, and the man who brought it said that it had
been left by the captain of the Mill-Boy, a new boat, they say."

"Well, it's devilish----"

"John."

"I say it's very strange. Enjoys being mysterious. I wonder if she
equally enjoys having the neighbors talk about her? Sends love to Jim.
Well, that isn't so bad. You'd better have some one take the letter over
to him."

"I sent him word by the man who brought the letter that we had heard
from her."

No further did the Major question her, but taking up a handful of
accounts, he settled himself into the preoccupation in which she had
found him, but the moment she went out and closed the door, he got out
of his chair and with his hands behind him, walked up and down the room.
At the window he halted, and standing there, looked down the river, in
the direction of the cape of sand whereon Louise had stood, that day
when Pennington coughed in the library door; and in his mind the old man
saw her, with her hands clasped over her brown head. He mused over the
time that had passed since then, the marriage, the death, the dreary
funeral; and though he did not reproach himself, yet he felt that could
he but recall that day he would omit his foolish plea of gallantry.

For the coming of Jim, Mrs. Cranceford had not long to wait. She was in
the parlor when he tapped at the door. After she had called, "Come in,"
he continued to stand there as if he were afraid of meeting a
disappointment. But when he had