“Those Southern countrymen, that you seem to love better than the country they would ruin, would have little remorse in marching over your body, even among the ashes of your farm-house.  Doubtless you would stand at your threshold, and welcome their butchery, should their ruffian legions ravage our land as far as your Green Mountains.”

“I do not think they will invade one foot of Northern soil, unless compelled by strict military necessity.  However, should the State to which I owe allegiance be attacked by foreign or domestic foe, I will stand among its defenders.  But, dear Harold, let us not argue this sad subject, which it is grief enough but to contemplate.  Tell me of your plans, and how I shall communicate with you, while you are absent.  My distress about this unhappy war will be keener, when I feel that my dear friend may be its victim.”

Harold pressed his hand affectionately, and the two friends spoke of the misty future, till Harold arose to depart.  They had not mentioned Oriana’s name, though she was in their thoughts, and each, as he bade farewell, knew that some part of the other’s sadness was for her sake.

Arthur accompanied Harold a short distance up Broadway, and returning, found at the office of the hotel, a letter, without post-mark, to his address.  He stepped into the reading-room to peruse it.  It was from Beverly, and ran thus: 

    “RICHMOND, May —­, 1861.

“DEAR ARTHUR:  The departure of a friend gives me an opportunity to write you about a matter that I beg you will attend to, for my sake, thoroughly.  I learned this morning, upon receipt of a letter from Mr. Pursely, that Miranda Ayleff, of whom we spoke together, and to whom I presume you have already delivered my communication, is receiving the visits of one Philip Searle, to whom, some two years since, she was much attached. Entre nous, Arthur, I can tell you, the man is a scoundrel of the deepest dye.  Not only a drunkard and a gambler, but dishonest, and unfit for any decent girl’s society.  He is guilty of forgery against me, and, against my conscience, I hushed the matter only out of consideration for her feelings.  I would still have concealed the matter from her, had this resumption of their intimacy not occurred.  But her welfare must cancel all scruples of that character; and I therefore entreat you to see her at once, and unmask the man fully and unequivocally.  If necessary you may show my letter for that purpose.  I would go on to New York myself immediately, were I not employed upon a State mission of exceeding delicacy and importance; but I have full confidence in your good judgment.  Spare no arguments to induce her to return immediately to Richmond.

“Oriana has not been well; I know not what ails her, but, though she makes no complaint, the girl seems really ill.  She knows not of my writing, for I would not pain her about Miranda, of whom she is very fond.  But I can venture, without consulting her, to send you her good wishes.  Let me hear from you in full about what I have written.  Your friend.

    “BEVERLY WEEMS.”