Then, upon a day two years after she had triumphantly placed Eddie’s book and letter in his hands, it was his turn to bring her a letter.

“You see the bad penny has turned up again,” he remarked, dryly.

She looked questioningly at the folded sheet.  Its post-mark was Fortress Monroe and the hand-writing was not familiar to her.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A letter from Dr. Archer.  He’s surgeon at the fort, you know.  Read it.  It is about Edgar.”

With shaking hands and a blanched face she spread open the sheet.  A nameless dread possessed her.  A letter about Eddie—­not from him—­and from a surgeon!  For a moment darkness seemed to descend upon her and she could not make out the characters before her.  She pressed her hand upon her heart.  In sudden alarm, her husband rushed to a celaret nearby and brought out a decanter of wine.  Pouring a glass he pressed it to her lips.

“Eddie,” she gasped, as soon as she could speak.  “Is he well?”

In spite of John Allan’s anxiety, he was irritated, and showed it.

“Pshaw, Frances!” he exclaimed.  “I hoped you had forgotten the boy.  Yes, he’s well, and, I’m glad to say, in a place where he is made to behave.”

She calmed herself with an effort and began to read the letter.  The story it told had a smack of romance.

Dr. Archer had (he wrote) been called to the hospital in the fort to see a private soldier by the name of Edgar A. Perry, who was down with fever.  The patient spoke but little but the Doctor was struck with his marked refinement of look and manner, and there was something familiar to him about the prominent brow and full grey eyes, though the name was strange to him.  His attention was aroused and he could not rid himself of the impression that he had seen the young man before.  He mentioned the fact to some of the officers and found at once that his patient was a subject of deep interest to them.  They felt sure (they told him) that he had a story.  His polished manners and bright and cultivated conversation seemed to them incongruous with the duties of a private soldier, and they laughingly said that they suspected they were entertaining an angel unawares.  Yet his duties were performed with the utmost faithfulness and efficiency.  He had never been heard to speak of himself or his past in a way which would throw any light upon his history, and his reserve was of the kind which was bound to be respected.  Dr. Archer had grown (he wrote) more and more interested in his patient as he became better acquainted with him, and being convinced that the young man had for some reason, gotten out of his proper sphere, he determined to try and help him back to it.

By the time the young soldier was convalescent the Doctor had won his confidence and obtained from him the confession that the name of Perry was an assumed one, and that he was none other than Mr. Allan’s adopted son, Edgar Poe, whom Dr. Archer had not seen since he was a small boy.