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The aide-de-camp laughed like a rustic and vanished. "Smith," said the Major, "your eyes are--"

"Read the address on your despatch," said Gholson, resuming his pen.

She dropped the rein and lifted both arms toward them. "Oh, blessings on your glorious old heathen hearts, what do you want of Diana, or of any one in heaven or earth except each other!"

I mumbled something about never wishing to tempt any one.

"Sa-ay! I'll wrastle you fo' them-ah clo'es."

"Oh, shut your dirty face!" replied the son, while one of his cronies warned both against being overheard. But when this one added something further the old man snarled:

"Now it must be three." Miss Rothvelt's writing lay in my bosom beside my despatch. At each half-hour I re-read it. At three-and-a-half I happened to glance at the original superscription. A thought flashed upon me. I stared at her name, and began to mark off its letters one by one and to arrange them in a new order. I took C from Coralie and h from Rothvelt; after them I wrote a from Coralie and r from Rothvelt, l and o from Coralie and two t's and an e from Rothvelt, and behold, Charlotte! while the remaining letters gave me Oliver.

"They were neither of them present, Lieutenant; that hand was Miss Coralie Rothvelt's."

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