“Ah, God bless you, Olympia!  That removes a curse from me—­I—­I mean that fills me with a courage that is not my own, I have learned yours or stolen it.  But you will forgive me, for I mean to use it all in your behalf.”

Olympia smiled sadly, and the two parted.  By the night express Kate left the city, and, the next afternoon, reached Acredale.  As she anticipated, her father was not at home.  He had only been an hour or two in the house since his return.  The servants had no idea where he was.  His letters were forwarded to him under cover of his lawyers in Warchester.  If, as she fearfully surmised, her father were engaged in some cruel scheme to the hurt of Jack, her best way with him would be perfect frankness.  She had never yet failed in swerving him from his most headstrong impulses when she could talk with him.  She must have him now to herself.  Her best plan, therefore, would be to write.  Yet she hardly knew how to frame the note, reflecting bitterly, as she sat twirling her pen, on the monstrous state of things that made writing to her own father almost a duplicity.  At length she wrote: 

“DEAREST PAPA:  I am come all the way from Washington, leaving poor Mrs. Sprague very low with fever, and her daughter tormented and ill with anxiety.  I feel, I know, that you can relieve the distress of this miserable mother and devoted sister.  I must see you.  I felt sure of seeing you in Washington, and you can imagine my surprise and grief when they told me at the hotel that you had gone.  Do come to me, or let me come to you.  Your daughter’s place is with you or near you now.  We have only each other in this world; pray, dear father, let nothing come between us; let nothing make you doubt the constant love of your daughter.

“KATE.”

The note dispatched, she went immediately to the Perleys.  Perhaps they had news that might be of help.  No.  The three ladies met her with agitated volubility.  Had she heard from their nephew?  Had Dick escaped with Jack?  Olympia had assured them that he had quitted Richmond with her brother.  They had written to the Caribee regiment, and received word that no trace of him could be found.  The regiment, or what was left of it, was home refilling its ranks.  The officers, indeed, knew nothing of such a person as Richard Perley.  McGoyle, who was now colonel, did vaguely recall the lad at Washington, but had no idea what became of him.  Kate found a new grief in the misery of the helpless ladies.  But she could give them no comfort, and returned home to await her father’s coming.  In the evening a messenger brought her a note.  It was in the straight, emphatic hand of her father.  He wrote: 

“DEAR DAUGHTER:  I am just now engaged in very important matters that require me to move about considerably.  I shall not be home for some days.  I am glad you have come home.  That’s the place for you.  You had better let the matter you speak of alone.  The mother and sister are enough in the business.  I don’t see how it concerns you or me.  If the man is dead it will be known as soon as the commissioners of exchange hand in their lists.  If he is not dead, it is certainly no business of yours or mine to bring him home.  I will write you soon again.  Love your father.  Keep the house well till I come.”