merriment out of her beautiful eyes, the color and fullness from her
cheeks, the smiles from her lips and the glossy, blackness from her
hair.

"Mrs. Abercrombie is such a wreck," one would say on meeting her
after a few years. "I would hardly have known her; and she doesn't
look at all happy."

"I wonder if the general drinks as hard as ever?" would in all
probability be replied to this remark, followed by the response:

"I was not aware that he was a hard drinker. He doesn't look like
it."

"No, you would not suspect so much; but I am sorry to say that he
has very little control over his appetite."

At which a stronger surprise would be expressed.

General Abercrombie was fifty years old, a large, handsome and
agreeable man, and a favorite with his brother officers, who deeply
regretted his weakness. As an officer his drinking habits rarely
interfered with his duty. Somehow the discipline of the army had
gained such a power over him as to hold him repressed and
subordinate to its influence. It was only when official restraints
were off that the devil had power to enter in and fully possess him.

A year before the time of which we are writing General Abercrombie
had been ordered to duty in the north-eastern department. His
headquarters were in the city where the characters we have