e shelves. The sun shone in
royally, until Pocahontas served a writ of ejectment on his majesty by
closing all the shutters; and the sun promptly eluded it by peeping in
between the bars. A little vagrant breeze stole in, full of idleness
and mischief, and meddled with the books--fluttering the leaves of "The
Faery Queen," which lay on its back wide open, lifting up the pages,
and flirting them over roguishly as though bent on finding secrets.
The little noise attracted the girl's attention, and she raised the
book and wiped the covers with her duster. As she slapped it lightly
with her hand to get out all the dust, a letter slipped from among the
leaves and fell to the floor near Berkeley's feet.

"Where did this come from?" he inquired, as he picked it up.

"Out of this book," she answered, holding up the volume in her hand.
"It fell out while I was dusting; some one must have left it in to mark
a place. It must have been in the book for years; see how soiled it
is. Whose is it?"

There is something in the unexpected finding of a stray letter which
stimulates curiosity, and Berkeley turned it in his hand to read the
address. The envelope was soiled like the coat of a traveler, and the
letter was crumpled as though a hand had closed over it roughly. The
writing was distinct and clerkly. "Berkeley Mason, Esq., Wintergreen,
---- Co., Virginia." Mr. Mason examined the blurred, indistinct
postmark. "Point"--something, it seemed to be; and on the other side,
Washington, plain enough, and the date, May, 1865. What letter had
been forwarded him from the seat of government in the spring of '65?
Then memory unfolded itself like a map whose spring is loosened.

Seating himself in an easy chair, he drew the letter from its envelope,
unfolding it slowly against his knee. It was a half-sheet of ordinary
commercial paper and the lines upon it numbered, perhaps, a dozen.
Mason winced at sight of the heading as though an old wound had been
pressed. His sister, leaning over the back of his chair, read with
him; putting out a hand across his shoulder to help him straighten the
page. It ran thus:

POINT LOOKOUT,

May --, 1865.

TO BERKELEY MASON, ESQ., Virginia.

SIR--A Confederate soldier, now a prisoner of war at this place, giving
his name as Temple Mason, is lying in the prison hospital at the point
of death. He was too ill to be sent south with the general transfer,
and in compliance with his urgent reques