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I prompted Camille to ask if he had ever encountered Ned Ferry, and he laughed.

"No," he said, but Ned Ferry had lately restored to him, by proxy, some lost letters, with an invitation to come and see him.

I thought I did until I glanced at the superscription: Miss Coralie Rothvelt.

"Smith, I want them to get it. I want them to rob you of this." He waggled the envelope. "I want this to fall into the hands of the enemy; as it will if those people rob you of it."

"To what command do you belong?" he asked.

"They're going down into the woods together!"

"Not at all, sir. I'm sorry to seem so; it's not the tip-top of courtesy,--"

He was not so handsome as his brother, though younger. His affability came by gleams. I asked how that good fortune had come to my mother, and he replied that there was hardly time now for another story; we might be interrupted--by the Yankees. "Ask the young lady you met yesterday evening," he added, with a knowing gleam, and smiled me away; and when by and by the enemy did interrupt, I had forgiven him. Whoever failed to answer my questions, in those days, incurred my forgiveness.

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