“The detachment has marched, my dear child! Marched the morning of the day upon which I reached Winchester, and two days before it was expected to have gone. So, you see, I could not get a sight of either Frank or Archer. They were thirty miles on their road before I reached the city. Can’t think what could have been the reason of the new order, to anticipate their departure by two days. However! cheer up! No use fretting, my dear! No use fretting! The family have supped long ago, of course—have they kept my supper hot for me? I am as hungry as an old wolf,” said the old man. Carolyn did not hear him. Her hold relaxed upon his arm, her hands flew up to her head, and she turned, as one struck with sudden blindness, and tottered into the house. It was so dark in the shady piazza, screened from the moonbeams by interlacing cypress vines, that the old man did not see her state. He hastened into the house, where another awaited him with equal anxiety. Zuleime’s private hope had been that Frank would seize the opportunity of Mr. Clifton’s visit, and confess his marriage, and invent some way of delivering her father from the toils of Major Cabell. “What news, father?” she asked, meeting him in the hall. “‘What news?’ Why, I am as hungry as a bear, my pet! That’s the news! I stopped to supper at L——. But, my life! They like to have poisoned me with _fried_ beefsteaks and heavy biscuits and green coffee. Couldn’t touch a morsel, child! And now I am starved up to a savage pitch! What have you got for supper?” “Turtle soup and old crusted port, among other things, father,” replied Zuleime, waving her own anxiety for the sake of satisfying him. “TURTLE SOUP! And OLD CRUSTED PORT;” exclaimed the old man, in an ecstacy of delight. “Why, where on earth did they come from?” “The turtle came from a ship at Norfolk, and was sent hither by Major Cabell, who added a dozen of port of his own importation,” said Zuleime, dying with anxiety to hear from Frank. “Ah-h-h-h! _That_ was kind! _He’s_ a fellow! He’ll make a magnificent husband and son-in-law, Zuleime! I hope you know how turtle soup should be made?” “Father, I know it should be eaten quite _hot_, and it is on the table by this time. Come in.” The old man needed no pressing, but went into the dining-room, and sat down at the table, with a face radiant with delight. Zuleime waited on him, although there was a servant in attendance. And when he had freely partaken of turtle soup, devilled crabs, a roasted fowl, etc., washed them down with port wine, she brought him a cup of fragrant Mocha coffee and his case of cigars. And he sipped the coffee with an air of infinite leisure, and then lit a cigar and puffed slowly away, as if eternity was before him. “Father, what news from Winchester?” again asked Zuleime, though her hopes had fallen very low. “What news, dear father?” “What’s that to you, my pet? Will you let me digest my supper in peace?”