"Not one," she cried. "I'm going to bring back the red blood to your cheeks now and take that fevered look out of your eyes——"
The weeks of convalescence were swift and beautiful to Betty—her ministry to his slightest whim a continuous joy. The only cloud in her sky was the strange, feverish, unquiet look in his eyes. On the day of his discharge he received a letter from his mother which deepened this expression to the verge of mania.
"What is it, dear?" Betty asked in alarm.
"One of those unfortunate things that have been happening somewhere every day for the past year—an arrest and imprisonment for treasonable utterances——"
"Who has been arrested?"
"This time my father in Missouri."
"Your father?" she gasped.
"Yes. He has been a bitter critic of the war. He seems to have gone too far. There was a riot of some sort in the village and he took the wrong side."
There was an ominous quiet in the way he talked.
"I'll take you to see the President, dearest," she said soothingly. "We'll ask for his release. It's sure to be granted."