They were treated with the same deferential gallantry at the surgeon-general's office; the young doctors, indeed, became almost obtrusive in their eagerness to spare the young women the drudgery of scrutinizing the long lists of invalids. But, after two days' careful search, no names resembling Sprague or Perley could be found.
"I wonder who this can be?" Kate said, returning to an entry made a month before: "Jones, Warchester; Caribee Regiment."
"I know no one of that name," Olympia said, "but perhaps he might know something of Jack. Let us go to him. It will do no harm to find out who he is."
The surgeon's clerk readily gave them Jones's address, reminding them that the hospital was in Georgetown, and that they would be too late to obtain entrance to the patient that day. Next morning Mrs. Sprague was too ill to rise from her bed, and Olympia could not leave her alone. Kate undertook the investigation into the Jones affair alone. When she reached the hospital there was some delay before she could see the personage intrusted with the admission of guests. She was shown into an office on the ground-floor and given a seat. As she sat, distraught and eager, she heard her own name in the next room, the door of which stood open:
"It's at Boone's risk. He would have him moved, and the surgeon-general gave him carte blanche with the patient."
"Well, it will cost the man his life. I'll stake my diploma on that. Why, the journey to Warchester alone is enough to down the most vigorous convalescent."
Kate trembled. What did this mean? What was she hearing? Boone—Warchester? Whom had her father been taking from the hospital—Jack? Her heart gave a wild leap. Yes—Jack. Who else did her father know in the army? She arose trembling, fainting, but resolute. She reached the open door, but tried for a moment in vain to ask:
"If you please, tell me, tell me—" But she could say no more. The occupants of the room, in undress uniform, turned upon her at first in hostile surprise, but, as she threw her veil farther back in alarm, the elder of the two said:
"Pray, madam, what is it; are you ill?"
"No; may I sit down, please? Thank you. I am come to, to—" What should she say? How expose the doubt of her father? How find out for certain who had been removed to Warchester—abducted was the word her agitated thoughts shaped. Oh, if Olympia, intrepid, self-possessed, were only with her!—but no, not Olympia; no one must ever know the unutterable crime she suspected her father of. She must be brave. She must be resolute. Oh, where were her arts now, when she most needed them? She tried to speak. A hoarse gasping came in her throat and died there.