Helen was quick with attention at the mention of Dunvegan.
“Dear Annie: I—am—sick——. Can’t you—come to me? I was—captured in—Virginia. About ten left. Poor Ervin—”
“Ervin,” she said—“Ervin—”
“Ervin McArthur, ma’am.”
“Did you know him?”
“Yes, ma’am, I did—poor fellow. He was the dearest comrade of us all.”
“Now, what did—did you say?” She controlled herself with a great effort.
“Poor Ervin,” he confirmed, “built a submarine tor—.” She stopped and her eyes were full of tears.
“I can get some one else to write it, ma’am—”
“I am ashamed of myself, sir, but his death was so sad—he—”