Was it her agonized petitions that kept him to the straight and narrow path of duty during those two years amid uncongenial surroundings and hard conditions? Who knows? Yet the chair and the desk and the books and the vases of fresh flowers on the mantel, and the fire-wood resting on the shining andirons ready for a match, and the reading lamp with trimmed wick and bright chimney on the table, and the canopied white bed still waited, in vain, his coming. Many months had passed since the name of Eddie had been spoken between husband and wife, but though she held her peace, like Mary of old, like Mary too, she pondered many things in her heart. He, loving her well, but having no aptitude for divining woman's ways, indulged in secret satisfaction, for he took her silence to mean that she was coming to her senses, and regarding the boy as he did. That she no longer importuned him to enquire into Edgar's whereabouts with the intention of inviting him home was a source of especial relief to him. 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.