shed across her--the messenger was indeed Rix. Rix was a deserter
beyond all peradventure. Then, doubtless, she was all wrong and Abbot
all right as to the real status of Mr. Hollins. No wonder she was
overwhelmed.

But in all her self-abasement and distress of mind Viva Winthrop was
clear-headed on the question of the dissolution of that engagement. "He
does not love me and I do not deserve that he should," was her epitome
of the situation. "It will cause him no sorrow now, and it must be
ended." And it was. He called and asked to see her, if she felt well
enough to receive him; he acquiesced in her decision, but he wanted to
part as friends. She begged to be excused, explaining that she had not
left her rooms since the night of his arrival, which was true. And now,
with a heart that beats more joyously despite the major's proper and
conscientious effort to believe that he is not happier in his freedom,
he is hastening back to the front, for his orders have come.

Two things remain to be attended to before reporting for duty. He makes
every effort to find Hollins's hiding-place, but without avail. Miss
Winthrop tells him that beyond the postmark, Baltimore, there is not a
clew in any of the letters, and that they have ceased coming entirely.
Rix made no mention beyond saying that he was in Baltimore among people
who would guard him, and Rix himself has gone--no man can say whither.

The other matter is one to which he hastens with eager heart. Twice he
has written to Doctor Warren since their parting at Washington, and he
has asked permission to call upon them at Hastings before returning. His
orders come before any reply. He therefore writes to Hastings the day
before he leaves home, begging that a telegram be sent to meet him at
the Metropolitan, the war-time rendezvous of army men when in New York
on leave, and his face is blank with disappointment when the clerk tells
him that no telegram has been received. He has a day at his disposal,
and he loses no time, but goes up the river by an afternoon train, and
returns by the evening "accommodation" with uneasy heart. Doctor Warren
and Miss Bessie had not yet come back was the news that met him at the
pretty little homestead. The doctor had been ill in Washington, and when
he was well enough to start the young lady was suddenly taken down.
Abbot is vaguely worried. He anxiously questions the kindly old
housekeeper, and draws from her all that she knows. She is looking