was his good name the object of her father’s hatred?  Whither should she turn?  Why had she not thought of this—­her fathers passivity or even opposition?  How could she reveal her terrors to the mother and sister?  How make known to them the unworthy side of her father’s character?  If in the morning no telegram came from Acredale, it would be proof that her father was bent, implacably in his purpose to undo Jack, living or dead.  When she reached the lodging, Olympia was dressed for the street.

“You are just in time.  I have matured my plans.  First, we must find out at the proper quarter the names of all the wounded brought here from Fort Monroe.  Then we must trace the report in the Herald down to its origin.  Then we must visit every hospital in and near Washington to find out from actual sight of each man whether Jack or Dick, or any one we know, is in the city.  As we go on, we shall learn a good deal which may modify this plan, or perhaps make the search less difficult.”

Olympia said this with composure and a certain confidence in herself that struck Kate with admiration.  She felt ashamed of herself.  Here was Olympia, unconscious of Jack’s real peril if living, the menace to his reputation if dead, planning as composedly as if it were an every-day thing to have a brother lost in the appalling mazes of war; and she had been weakly depending upon her father, Jack’s most persevering enemy!  She recoiled from herself in a shiver of self-reproach as she said: 

“Olympia, you have the good sense of a man in an emergency.  I am ashamed of myself.  I, who ought to do the thinking for you, am as helpless as a kitchen-maid set to playing lady in the parlor.  I can at least help you; I can make my body follow you, if I haven’t sense enough to suggest.”

“Dear Kate, it isn’t sense, or insight, or any fine quality of mind that is needed here.  All I ask is, that you won’t get dispirited, or, if you do, don’t let mamma see you are.  Poor mamma!  She is as easily influenced as a baby.  Jack is her darling, remember.  All the world is a small affair to her compared with our poor boy.  I fancy, if we were as much wrapped up in him as she is, we should make poor pioneers in the wilderness before us.”

But Kate could stand no more of this.  With a choking sob she turned and fled up the stairway, crying as she disappeared:  “Wait—­wait a moment; I must get my purse.”

When she reappeared, the heavy mourning-veil was drawn down, and Olympia, with a reassured glance, opened the door.

“You must affect confidence, if you have it not—­even gayety.  I warn you not to be shocked at my conduct.  I must keep up mamma’s spirits, and to do it I must play indifference or confidence, and you must be careful to say nothing, to do nothing, to excite her suspicions.”