_“I leave to-night on the Limited for Atlanta where I join a friend. We go to Savannah, and thence by steamer to Boston where I shall visit Helen for a month._ _“Sincerely,_ _“Sallie Worth.”_ For a long time he looked at the letter in a stupor of amazement. That her father could coerce her hand into writing such a brutal commonplace note was a revelation of his power he had never dreamed. And then his anger began to rise. His fighting blood from soldier ancestors made his nerves tingle at this challenge. He took up the letter and read it again curiously studying each word. He opened the folded sheet hoping to find some detached message. There was nothing inside. But he noticed on the other side of the sheet a lot of indentures as though made by the end of a needle. He turned it back and studied these dots under different letters in the words made by the needle points. He spelled,-- “_My Darling--Unto the Uttermost!_” And then he covered the note with kisses, sprang to his feet and looked at his watch. It was now ten-thirty. The Limited left Independence at eleven o’clock and made no stops for the first hundred miles toward Atlanta. But just to the south where the railroad skirted the foot of King’s Mountain, there was a water tank on the mountain side where he knew the train stopped for water about midnight. With a fast horse he could make the eighteen miles and board the Limited at this water station. The only danger was if the sky should cloud over and the starlight be lost it would be difficult to keep in the narrow road that wound over the semi-mountainous hills, densely wooded, that must be crossed to make it. “I ’ll try it!” he exclaimed. “Yes, I will do it!” he added setting his teeth. “I ’ll make that train.” He got the best horse he could find in the livery stable, saw that his saddle girths were strong, sprang on and galloped toward the south. It was a quarter to eleven when he started, and it seemed a doubtful undertaking. The Limited would make the run from Independence, fifty-two miles, in an hour at the most. If she were on time it would be a close shave for him to make the eighteen miles. The sky clouded slightly before he reached the mountain. In spite of his vigilance he lost his way and had gone a quarter of a mile before a rift in the cloud showed him the north star suddenly, and he found he had taken the wrong road at the crossing and was going straight back home. Wheeling his horse, he put spurs to him, and dashed at full speed back through the dense woods. Just as he got within a mile of the tank he heard the train blow for the bridge-crossing at the river near by. “Now, my boy,” he cried to his horse, patting him. “Now your level best!”