of my bed an envelope was lying--a telegram. I hastily tore
it open, and read: "Dr. Khayme tells me you are safe. Continue to do
your duty." My heart swelled,

I rose, and dressed, and went out. The Doctor was standing under a tree,
near a fire; a negro was cooking at the fire. Under an awning, or fly,
beneath which a small eating table was dressed, a woman was sitting in a
chair, reading. I thought I had seen her before, and looking more
closely I recognized the woman who had given the Doctor a cup of coffee
on Pennsylvania Avenue.

The Doctor stepped forward to meet me, "Ah, I see you have rested well,"
said he; then, "Lydia, here is Mr. Berwick."

I was becoming accustomed to surprises from the Doctor, so that I was
not greatly astonished, although I had received no intimation of the
young lady's identity. The feeling that was uppermost was shame that I
had not even, once thought of asking the Doctor about her.

"I should, never have recognized you," I said. She replied with, a
smile, and the Doctor relieved the situation by cheerfully crying out
"Dinner!" and leading the way to the table.

"Now, Jones," said the Doctor, "you are expected to eat; you have had
nothing since yesterday afternoon, when you choked yourself while
bandaging--"

"What do you know about that?" I asked.

"You talked about it in your sleep last night on the road. As for Lydia
and me, we have had our breakfast and our luncheon, and you must not
expect us to eat like a starving fantassin. Fall to, my boy. I know that
you have eaten nothing to-day."

There were fruit, bread and butter, lettuce, rice, and coffee. I did not
wonder at the absence of meat; I remembered some of the talks of my
friend. The Doctor and his daughter seemed to eat merely for the purpose
of keeping me in countenance.

"Lydia, would you have known Mr. Berwick?"

"Why, of course, Father; I should have known him anywhere; it is not
four years since we saw him."

These four years had made a great change in Miss Khayme. I had left her
a girl in the awkward period of a girl's life; now she was a woman of
fine presence, wholesome, good to look at. She did not resemble her
father, except perhaps in a certain intellectual cast of feature. Her
dark wavy tresses were in contrast with his straight black hair; her
eyes were not his; her stature was greater than his. Yet there were
points of resemblance. Her manner was certainly very like the Doctor's,
and many times a fleet