y opportunity of tampering with our mail. He felt, when I was
left wounded at the Monocacy, that that would end the play; and then, in
his despair and remorse, he deserted. He was around Frederick a day or
two in disguise, and sought to see you and her. Failing in that, he sent
you by the landlady the packet that was afterwards taken from your
overcoat by the secret-service men; and the next thing he came within an
ace of being captured by his own colonel. Escaping, he was believed to
be a rebel spy, and so implicated you. It was to search for him I was
sent to Boston. There Miss Winthrop formally broke our engagement, and I
would be a free man to-day, doctor, but for your daughter; and now it is
not freedom I seek, but a tie that only death can break. You came to
Paul Abbot when you thought him sorely wounded, and she came with you.
Now that he is sore stricken he comes to you. If it will pain her I will
ask no meeting now, but don't you think I owe her a good many letters,
doctor? Won't you let me pay that debt?"

It is a long speech for Abbot, but his heart is full. The old
gentleman's sad face seems to thaw and beam under the influence of his
frank avowal and that winning plea. Abbot has held forth his other hand,
and there the two men stand, both trembling a little, under the
influence of a deep and holy emotion, clasping each other's hands and
looking into each other's face. They are at the very door-step of the
old-fashioned boarding-house which was so characteristic a feature of
the capital in the war-days. The door itself is but a few arms'-lengths
away, and all of a sudden it softly opens, and, with a light mantle
thrown over her shoulders, a tall, slender, graceful girl comes forth
upon the narrow porch.

"Is that you, papa? I heard your step, and wondered why you remained
outside. Was the door locked?"

There is an instant of silence. Then a young soldier, in his staff
uniform, takes three quick, springing steps, and is at her side. The
doctor seems bent on further search for fresh air, for he turns away
with a murmured word to his trembling companion, and Bessie Warren
finds it impossible to retreat. Major Abbot has seized her hand, and is
saying--she hardly hears, she hardly knows, what. But it is all so
sudden; it is all so sweet.

[Illustration: "_Then a young soldier in his staff uniform takes three
springing steps, and is at her side._"]

XI.

Cold and gray in the mist of the morning the