for the cause out there, and has got a list of all the So'thern men
in California that are sound and solid for the South. Read says he
shouldn't wonder if he'd make California wheel into line too."

"I don't see what that's got to do with Mr. Corbin," said the young
girl, impatiently, flicking the still unopened letter against the packet
in her hand.

"Well," said the Captain, with cheerful vagueness, "I thought it might
interest you,--that's all," and lounged judicially away.

"Paw thinks," said Miss Sally, still standing in the doorway,
ostentatiously addressing her pet goshawk, but with one eye following
her retreating parent, "Paw thinks that everybody is as keen bent on
politics as he is. There's where paw slips up, Jim."

Re-entering the room, scratching her little nose thoughtfully with the
edge of Mr. Corbin's letter, she went to the mantelpiece and picked up a
small ivory-handled dagger, the gift of Joyce Masterton, aged eighteen,
presented with certain verses addressed to a "Daughter of the South,"
and cut open the envelope. The first glance was at her own name, and
then at the signature. There was no change in the formality; it was
"Dear Miss Sarah," and "Yours respectfully, Jo Corbin," as usual. She
was still secure. But her pretty brows contracted slightly as she read
as follows:--


"I've always allowed I should feel easier in my mind if I could ever get
to see Mrs. Jeffcourt, and that may be she might feel easier in hers if
I stood before her, face to face. Even if she didn't forgive me at once,