Olympia, after a night of anguish, began the new day with a heavy burden on her mind.  Mrs. Sprague was delirious.  The physician summoned during the night shook his head gravely.  She was suffering from overexertion, heat, and anxiety.  He was unable to do more than mitigate her sufferings.  He recommended country air and absolute repose.  Merry, too, though holding up bravely, gave signs of breaking down.  The two women—­Olympia and Merry—­under the escort of young Bevan, had gone through the prisons, the dreadful Castle Winder, and through the hospitals, with hope dying at every new disappointment.  They came across many of the Caribees, and saw a member of Congress, caught on the battle-field, who knew the regiment well.

Jack had been traced to Porter’s lines, then far to the left, where Nick had been told to wait.  Nick was among the sweltering mass at Castle Winder, but he could trace the missing no farther.  He told of Jack’s persistent valor to the last, and the dreadful moment, when he, Jack, had been separated.  Dick he had not seen at all.  Olympia made intercession for Nick’s release, but was informed that nothing could be done until a cartel of exchange had been arranged.  The Yankee authorities had in the first five months of the war refused to make any arrangement, while the Union forces were capturing the Confederate armies in West Virginia and Missouri.  Now that the Confederates held an equal number, they were going to retaliate upon the overconfident North.  Olympia placed five hundred dollars at Nick’s disposal in the hands of the commandant to supply the lad with better food than the commissary furnished, and, promising him strenuous aid so soon as she got back to Washington, she resumed the quest for the lost.  She had written out an advertisement, to be inserted in all the city papers, and was to visit the offices herself with young Bevan that evening.  She had her bonnet on, and was charging Merry how to minister to the ailing mother, when the hostess knocked at the door.  “A lady is in the parlor who says she must see Mrs. Sprague immediately.”  Olympia followed Mrs. Bevan down tremblingly, far from any anticipation of what was in store for her; rather in the belief that it was some wretched mother from Acredale who had learned of their presence and hoped to get aid for an imprisoned son, husband, or brother.  But when she saw the kind, matronly face of Mrs. Raines beaming with the delight of bearing good news, she sank into a chair, saying faintly: 

“Did you wish to see me, Mrs.—­Mrs.—­”

“You are not Mrs. Sprague?”

“No; my mother is very ill.  I am Mrs. Sprague’s daughter.  Can I—­”

“Well, Miss Sprague, I think I can cure your mother.  I—­”

She arose and walked mysteriously to the door and looked into the hallway.

“I know what the disease is your mother is suffering from.”

She couldn’t resist prolonging the consequence of her mission.  All women have the dramatic instinct.  All love to intensify the unexpected.  But Olympia’s listless manner and touching desolation spurred her on.  She put her fingers to her lips warningly, and coming quite near her whispered, as she had seen people do on the stage: