"How should I know?"
"You won't faint, will you? It was from Charley Marsh!"
Mr. Darcy dropped the "Snorter," and stared.
"Char—ley Marsh! It's not possible, Blake?"
"Yes, it is. I am on my way to Cottage Street at this present writing, to tell his mother."
"Well, this is an astonisher! And where is the boy?"
"You'd never guess. A captain in the Southern army."
"You don't say so! How did he ever get there?"
"You see," said Val, "it's a long letter, and he explains everything. After he broke jail that time (of course, Turnbull helped him off), he skulked in the woods for two or three weeks, visited occasionally by a friend (Turnbull again), and through him heard of Nathalie's death. At last, he got the chance of a blockade-runner. The 'Stonewall Jackson' was leaving here, and he got on board, ran the blockade, and found himself in Dixie. There he was offered a captainship, if he would stay and fight a little. He accepted, and that's the whole story. I must tell the mother. It will do her more good than fifty novels and fifty thousand blue pills. Jo went into hysterics of delight when she heard it at breakfast, and I left her kicking when I came away."
"Does he say anything at all about the murder?"