the war--no other great battle. The armies were facing each
other across their entrenchments at Petersburg, and the moment a head
appeared above either parapet the crack of a rifle from the other told
of one more death added to the hundreds of thousands. That was all of
the war save that food was growing scarcer and the blockade of the
Southern ports more vigilant. It was a skilful and daring blockade
runner now that could creep past the watching ships.

On an inside page he found social news. Richmond was crowded with
refugees, and wherever men and women gather they must have diversion
though at the very mouths of the guns. The gaiety of the capital, real
or feigned, continued, and his eye was caught by the name of Lucia
Catherwood. There was a new beauty in Richmond, the newspaper said, one
whose graces of face and figure were equaled only by the qualities of
her mind. She had relatives of strong Northern tendencies, and she had
been known to express such sympathies herself; but they only lent
piquancy to her conversation. She had appeared at one of the President's
receptions; and further on Prescott saw the name of Mr. Sefton. There
was nothing by which he could tell with certainty, but he inferred that
she had gone there with the Secretary. A sudden thought assailed and
tormented him. What could the Secretary be to her? Well, why not? Mr.
Sefton was an able and insinuating man. Moreover, he was no bitter
partisan: the fact that she believed in the cause of the North would not
trouble him. She had refused himself and not many minutes later had been
seen talking with the Secretary in what seemed to be the most
confidential manner. Why had she come back to Richmond, from which she
had escaped amid such dangers? Did it not mean that she and the
Secretary had become allies more than friends? The thought would not
let Prescott rest.

Prescott put the newspaper in his pocket and left the little tavern with
an abruptness that astonished his host, setting out upon his ride with
increased haste and turning eastward, intending to reach the railroad at
the nearest point where he could take a train to Richmond.

His was not a morbid mind, but the fever in it grew. He had thought that
the Secretary loved Helen Harley: but once he had fancied himself in
love with Helen, too, and why might not the Secretary suffering from the
same delusion be changed in the same way? He took out the newspaper and
read the story again. There was m