Betty had found the President at the War Telegraph office in the old Army and Navy building. He was seated at the desk by the window where in 1862 he had written his first draft of his Emancipation Proclamation on pieces of pasteboard.

"You have heard nothing yet from General Sherman?" she asked pathetically.

"Nothing, child."

"And no message of any kind from John Vaughan since he left!" she exclaimed hopelessly.

"But I\'m sure, remember, sure to a moral certainty—that he reached Richmond safely and left there safely."

"How do you know?"

"Gilmore has just arrived with his reply from Jefferson Davis. It will be worth a half million votes for us. From his description of the \'reporter\' with Benjamin I am sure it was our messenger."

"But you don\'t know—you don\'t know!" Betty sighed.

The President bent and touched her shoulder gently:

"Come, dear, it\'s not like you to despair——"

The girl smiled wanly.

"How long since any message arrived from General Sherman?"

"Three days, my child. I know the hole he went in at, but I can\'t tell where he\'s going to come out——"

"If he ever comes out," Betty broke in bitterly.

"Oh, he\'ll come out somewhere!" the President laughed. "It\'s a habit of his. I\'ve watched him for months—sometimes I can\'t hear from him for a week—but he always bobs up again and comes out with a whoop, too——"

"But we\'ve no news!" she interrupted.

"No news has always been good news from Sherman——"

He paused and looked at his watch:

"Wait here. I\'ll be back in a few moments. We\'re bound to hear something to-day. I\'ve an engagement with my Committee of Undertakers. They are waiting for me to deliver my corpse to them—and they are very restless about it because I haven\'t given up sooner, I\'m full of foolish hopes. I\'m going to adjourn them until we can get a message of some kind——"

He returned in half an hour and sat in silence for a long time listening to the steady, sharp click of the telegraph keys.

Betty was too blue to talk—too heartsick to move.

At last the tall figure rose and walked back among the operators. They knew that he was waiting for the magic call, "Atlanta, Georgia." It had been three years and more since that heading for a message had flashed over their wires. Every ear was keen to catch it.

The President bent over the table of Southern wires and silently watched:

"You can\'t strain a little message through for me, can you, my boy?"

The operator smiled:

"I wish I could, sir."

The President returned to the front room and shook his head to Betty:

"Nothing."

"He entered Atlanta a spy, didn\'t he?" she said despairingly.

"Yes—of course."

"They couldn\'t execute him without our knowing it, could they?"

"If they trap him—yes—but he\'s a very intelligent young man. He\'ll be too smart for them. I feel it. I know it——"

He stopped and looked at her quizzically:

"I\'ve a sort of second sight that tells me such things. I saw General Sickles in the hospital after Gettysburg. They said he couldn\'t live. I told him he would get well and he did."

Again the President returned restlessly to the operator\'s room and Betty followed him to the door. He waited a long time in silence, shook his head and turned away. He had almost reached the door when suddenly the operator sprang to his feet livid with excitement:

"Wait—Mr. President!—It\'s come—my God, it\'s here!"

Every operator was on his feet listening in breathless excitement to the click of that Southern wire.

The President had rushed back to the table.

"It\'s for you, sir!"

"Read it ............