worse for wear, and a well-filled bookcase. The
screen standing before the fireplace was covered
with Confederate bank-notes of various denominations
and designs, in which the heads of Jefferson
Davis and other Confederate leaders were
conspicuous.

"Imperious Caesar, dead, and turned to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away,"

murmured the young man, as his eye fell upon this
specimen of decorative art.

The woman showed her visitor to a seat. She
then sat down facing him and looked at him closely.
"When did you last see my son?" she asked.

"I've never met your son," he replied.

Her face fell. "Then the message comes
through you from somebody else?"

"No, directly from your son."

She scanned his face with a puzzled look. This
bearded young gentleman, who spoke so politely
and was dressed so well, surely--no, it could
not be! and yet--

Warwick was smiling at her through a mist of