m bucked
and gagged at once. He is disgracing the regiment, and I won't tolerate
it. Do you understand?"

"I do, sir."

The colonel turns abruptly away, while the prisoner, knowing his man,
keeps discreetly out of sight, and correspondingly silent. At the gate
the older officer stops once more and calls to a soldier who is standing
near.

"Give my compliments to Lieutenant Abbot, and say that I will be out
here again to-morrow afternoon. Now, doctor, I am with you."

The old gentleman is leaning wearily back in his corner of the cab; a
strange, stunned, lethargic feeling seems to have come over him. His
eyes are fixed on vacancy, if anything, and the colonel's attempt at
cheeriness meets no response. As the vehicle slowly rattles away he
makes an effort, rouses himself as it were from a stupor-like condition,
and abruptly speaks:

"You tell me that--that you have seen Lieutenant Abbot's mail all summer
and spring and never saw a--our postmark--Hastings?"

"I have seen his mail very often, and thought his correspondents were
all home people. I am sure I would have noticed any letters coming
frequently in one handwriting, and his father's is the only masculine
superscription that was at all regular."

"My letters--our home letters--were not often addressed by me,"
hesitates the doctor. "The postmark might have given you an idea. I had
not time--" but he breaks off, weakly. It is so hard for him to
prevaricate: and it is bitter as death to tell the truth, now. And
worse--worse! What is he to tell--_how_ is he to tell her?

The colonel speaks slowly and sadly, but with earnest conviction:

"No words can tell you how I mourn the heartlessness of this trick,
doctor; but you may rest assured it is no doing of Abbot's. What earthly
inducement could he have? Think of it! a man of his family and
connections--and character, too. Some scoundrel has simply borrowed his
name, possibly in the hope of bleeding you for money. Did none of the
letters ever suggest embarrassments? It is most unfortunate that you did
not bring them with you. I know the writing of every officer and many of
the men in the regiment, and it would give me a clew with which to work.
Promise me you will send them when you reach home."

The Doctor bows his head in deep dejection. "What good will it do? I
thought to find a comrade of my boy's. Indeed! it must be one who knew
him well!--and how can I desire to bring to punishment one who
appreciated my s