“I have known Cortez for some time, and served him once or twice. He sends up to offer me a generalship in his little army--a general of cavalry. But I must take Saturday’s steamer.” “Plenty of time. This is only Monday.” “Plenty of time--if I am going.” “Is it a pretty uniform?” “I tell you the offer tempts me,” retorted Vickers. Overton rose, too. “My dear fellow,” he said, “of course you are going to accept it. Heaven knows I shall be sorry to see you leave Hilltop, but no good will come of your staying. Go to-night--at once. Be on the safe side. Let me see.” He drew out his watch. “The last train has gone a few minutes since, on this road, but there is a branch about five miles from here that has a train about ten. You can catch that. Get into my trap, and I’ll drive you over there with one of my trotters.” “Why the deuce should I go to-night?” said Vickers, stepping back as if to avoid Overton’s enthusiasm. “The sooner the better. If you don’t go now, how do we know you will ever go?” Vickers did not look at his friend. “At least,” he said, “I must go back to the house and get my things.” “My dear man, she won’t be up at this time of night.” “I don’t expect to see her. I don’t even know that I want to see her again. But I must get some money and clothes. I won’t trouble you. I’ll walk the five miles.” He moved toward the door. Overton held out his hand. “Good-by,” he said with a good deal of feeling. “Good-by, sir,” said Vickers, and he added: “By the way, did you believe that story of mine?” “Yes,” said Overton, “I did.” After the door closed, he repeated to himself: “Yes, by Jove, I did; but I wonder if I shan’t think myself a damned fool in the morning.” But the processes of belief and disbelief are obscure, and Overton, so far from finding his confidence shaken, woke the next morning with a strong sense of the reality of Vickers’s story; so strong, indeed, that he turned a little aside from his shortest road to the station in order to drive past the Lees’ house, and see if there were any signs of catastrophe there. There were. Nellie was standing at the door, and though to the casual observer she might have seemed to be standing calmly, to Overton’s eyes she betrayed a sort of tense anxiety. He pulled up. “Anything wrong, Miss Nellie?” “My uncle is ill--very ill, I’m afraid,” she answered, and then, as he jumped out of his brougham and came to her side, she went on, “It’s his heart. The doctor is not very hopeful.” “Dear! dear!” said Overton, “I am very sorry to hear that”; but inwardly he was wondering whether he had not advised Vickers wrongly. If the old man died, he would have been free to go openly under the name of Lee. “Can I do anything for you?” he asked aloud. “No, thank you,” Nellie answered. “My uncle is asleep now, and Dr. Briggs will be back before long.” And then, a sudden thought striking her, she asked: “Have you a spare minute, Mr. Overton?” He said that all his time was at her disposal.