His trips to the post office were very regular. One noon he came home to dinner with, so Nabby thought, a more than usually satisfied expression. In fact he seemed, for him, almost excited. “I don’t know what has changed him so lately, Varunas,” she confided. “Must have been that ‘spree’ he went on, whatever it was. He is more like himself--his old smart, lively self, I mean--than I’ve seen him since Esther ran off and married that Griffin thing.” Varunas had something to say. “You know what that letter was he give me to mail just now?” he asked. “The one he wrote right after dinner? No? Well, I don’t neither, but I know who ’twas to. ’Twas to the Honorable Alpheus Mooney, Trumet, Mass. That’s who ’twas to; and he was mighty anxious I should stop in and mail it on my way to the livery stable. What in time is he writtin’ to Congressman Mooney for? Don’t cal’late he’s goin’ to get some political job, or somethin’, do you--now that he’s lost his money?” One evening soon afterward, when Reliance Clark came home after locking the post office door, she found Foster Townsend in the library. He was seated in the easy-chair and the _Item_ was in his hand. He looked up and spoke. “Tired to-night, are you, Reliance?” he asked. “In a special hurry to go aloft and turn in?” “No, Foster. Why?” “Because, if you had just as soon, I’d like to have you wait up a while. I am sort of expecting somebody here to see me to-night and I’d rather like to have you around where I can call you if I want you.” She did not understand, of course, nor, just then, was she particularly curious. There were other matters on her mind, one matter so transcendently important that she could think of nothing else. “I can wait as well as not,” she told him. “In fact, I was goin’ to sit up anyway. I’ve got somethin’ to tell you, Foster. Somethin’ wonderful. I had a letter come in to-night’s mail. You had one, too. I’ve got them both here.” She had the letters in her hand. He looked at them, then at her face. “From--from the other side?” he asked, quickly. “Yes.” “From--her?” “Yes. One of them.” “Humph! What makes you look so queer? Say, there’s nothing--nothing wrong, is there?” She shook her head. “No. No, Foster,” she said, “there is nothin’ wrong. Everything is all right. Thank God for it.” He leaned forward. “What are you thanking God for?” he demanded. “And--here-- Are you crying? I believe you are. What--” Just then Nabby Gifford bustled into the library. She had not announced her coming; she was too excited for that. “Who do you suppose is out here, waitin’ to see you, Cap’n Foster?” she whispered. “The Honorable Mooney, that’s who.” Townsend’s reception of this announcement was disappointing, to say the least. “Humph!” he grunted. “I thought it must be Saint Peter, judging by your face. Tell him to come in. Yes, yes. Go and tell him.”