MY LADY OF THE NORTH

It was a bare, plain interior,—the low table at which he sat an unplaned board, his seat a box, made softer by a folded blanket. His only companions were two aides, standing silent beside the closed entrance, anxious to anticipate his slightest need.

He will abide in my memory forever as I saw him then,—although we were destined to meet often afterwards,—that old gray hero, whose masterly strategy held at bay for so long those mighty forces hurled on our constantly thinning lines of defence. To me the history of war has never contained his equal, and while I live I shall love and revere him as I can love and revere no other man.

“General Lee,” said one of the aides, as I passed the single sentry and drew aside the flap to step within, “this is Captain Wayne.”

He deliberately pushed aside the mass of papers which had been engaging him, and for an embarrassing moment fixed upon me a glance that seemed to read me through and through. Then, with simple dignity, far more impressive than I can picture it in words, he arose slowly and extended his hand.

“Captain Wayne,” he said gravely, yet retaining his grasp, and with his eyes full upon mine, “you are a much younger man than I expected to see, yet I have selected you upon the special recommendation of your brigade commander for services of the utmost importance. I certainly do not hold your youth to be against your success, but I feel unwilling to order you to the performance of this duty, which, besides being beyond the regular requirements of the service, involves unusual risks.”

“Without inquiring its nature,” I said hastily, “I freely offer myself a volunteer for any service which may be required either by the army or yourself.”

The kindly face brightened instantly, almost into a smile, and a new look of confidence swept into the keen gray eyes.

“I felt, even as I spoke,” he said, with a dignified courtesy I have never marked in any one else, “that I must be doing wrong to question the willingness of an officer of your regiment, Captain Wayne, to make personal sacrifice. From our first day of battle until now the South has never once called upon them in vain. You are from the ranks, I believe?”

“I was a corporal at Manassas.”

“Ah! then you have won your grade by hard service. You take with you one man?”

“Sergeant Craig of my troop, sir, a good soldier, who knows the country well.”

He lowered his eyes to the numerous papers littering the table, and then, leaning over, traced lightly with a colored pencil a line across an outspread map.

“You speak of his knowing the country well; are you aware, then, of your destination?”

“I merely inferred from what Colonel Carter said that it was your desire to re-establish communication with General Longstreet.”

“That is true; but do you know where Longstreet is?”

“Only that we of the line suppose him to be somewhere west of the mountains, sir. It is camp gossip that his present base of supplies is at Minersville.”

“Your conjecture is partly correct, although I have more reason to believe that the head of his column has reached Bear Fork, or will by to-morrow morning. Kindly step this way, Captain Wayne, and make note of the blue lines I have traced across this map. Here, you will observe, is Minersville, directly beyond the high ridge. You will notice that the Federal lines extend north and south directly between us, with their heavier bodies of infantry along the Wharton pike, and so disposed as to shut off all communication between us and our left wing. Now, the message I must get into Longstreet's hands is imperative; indeed, I will say to you, the very safety of this army depends upon its reaching him before his advance passes Bear Fork. There remains, therefore, no time for any long detour; the messenger who bears it must take his life in his hands and ride straight westward through the very lines of the enemy.”

He spoke these words rapidly, earnestly; then suddenly he lifted his eyes to mine, and said firmly: “I am perfectly frank with you. Are you the man?”

I felt the hot blood leap into my face, but I met his stern gaze without flinching.

“If I live, General Lee, I shall meet his advance at Bear Fork by daybreak.”

“God guide you; I believe you will.”

His words seemed uttered unconsciously. He turned slightly, and glanced toward the door. “Major Holmes, will you kindly hand me the draft of that despatch?”

He took the paper from the outstretched hand of the aide, read it over slowly and with great care, wrote a word of explanation upon the margin, and then extended it to me.

“Commit that, word by word, to your memory; we must run no possible risk of its ever falling into the enemy's hands.”

I can see it now, that coarse yellow paper,—the clear, upright penmanship, the words here and there misused and corrected, the sentence scratched out, the heavy underlining of a command, and his own strangely delicate signature at the bottom.

“Headquarters, Army Northern Virginia,

“In the field, near Custer House,

“Sept. 22, 2 P.M.

“Lieut.-Gen'l Longstreet,

“Commanding Left Wing.

“Sir: You will advance your entire force by the Connelton and Sheffield pikes, so as to reach Castle Rock with your full infantry command by daybreak, September 26th. Let this supersede all other orders. I propose to attack in force in the neighborhood of Sailor's Ford, and shall expect you to advance promptly at the first sound of our artillery. It is absolutely essential that we form prompt connection of forces, and to accomplish this result will require a quick, persistent attack upon your part. You are hereby ordered to throw your troops forward without reserve, permitting them to be halted by no obstacle, until they come into actual touch with my columns. The success or failure of my plans will depend utterly upon your strict observance of these orders.

“R. E. LEE, “Gen'l Commanding”

I handed back the paper, and lifted my hand in salute.

“You have memorized it?”

“Word for word, sir.”

“Repeat it to me.”

He held the paper before him as I did so, and at the close lifted his eyes again to my face.

“Very good,” he said quietly. “Now let there be no mistake; repeat it over to your companion as you proceed until he also has memorized it, and one of you must live long enough to reach Longstreet. I advise you to take the Langley road,—it is the most protected,—and not try to pass beyond the old Coulter plantation until after dark, or you will run the risk of being observed by the enemy's pickets. Beyond this I must leave all to your own discretion.”

He paused, and I still lingered, thinking he might have something more to add.

“Are you one of the Waynes of Charlottesville?” he asked gravely.

“Colonel Richard Wayne was my father, sir.”

“Ah, indeed! I remember him well”; and his face lit up with a most tender smile. “We were together in Mexico. A Virginia gentleman of the old school. He is dead, I believe?”

“He was killed, sir, the first year of the war.”

“I remember; it was at Antietam. And your mother? If my memory is not at fault she was a Pierpont?”

“She is now in Richmond, sir, and the old plantation is but a ruin.”

“War is indeed sad,” he said slowly; “and I often feel that our Southern women are compelled to bear the brunt of it. What heroines they have proven! History records no equal to the daily sacrifices I have witnessed in the past three years. God grant it may be soon ended.”

Then, as if suddenly moved by the impulse of the moment, he again extended his hand.

“Well, lad,” he said kindly, the same grave smile lighting his face, “our country needs us. We must not waste time here in conversation. I am very glad to have been permitted to meet the son of my old friend, and trust you will remember me to your mother. But now good-bye, Captain, and may He in whose hand we all are guide and guard you. I know that a Wayne of Virginia will always do his duty.”

Bareheaded and with proudly swelling heart I backed out of the tent as I might have left the throne-room of an emperor, but as I grasped the reins and swung up into saddle, I became conscious that he had followed me. Craig flung up his hand in quick, soldierly salute, and then, with a single rapid stride, the General stood at his horse's head.

“Sergeant,” he said,—and I was struck by the incisive military tone of his voice, so different from the gentleness shown within,—“I am informed that you are intimately acquainted with the roads to the westward.”

“Every bridle-path, sir, either by night or day.”

“Then possibly you can inform me whether the Big Hickory is fordable at Deer Gap.”

“Not for infantry at high water, sir; but there is another ford two miles north where it is never over waist deep.”

“That would be at Brixton's Mill?”

“No, sir; the other way.”

Lee smiled, and rested his hand almost caressingly on the trooper's knee.

“You are a valuable man for us to risk on such a ride,” he said kindly. “But I desire you to understand, Sergeant, how deeply I value the service you are about to render, and that I shall never permit it to be forgotten or go unrewarded. And now, good-night, Sergeant; good-night, Captain Wayne.”

As we turned into the main road, riding slowly, I glanced backward. The General was yet standing there in front of his tent, gazing after us, the rays of the westering sun gleaming on his gray hair.

CHAPTER II. — THE NIGHT RIDE

By five o'clock we were safe at Colchester, and while our horses rested and refreshed themselves on some confiscated grain, the two of us lay lazily back on a grassy knoll, well within the shadow of a ruined wall, and watched the round, red sun drop slowly down behind those western hills we had to climb.

We scarcely spoke regarding the work we knew was ahead, except to discuss briefly the better route to be selected for our hard night's ride. We were both old campaigners, inured by years of discipline to danger and obedience. This special duty, however arduous and desperate it might prove to be, was silently accepted as part of the service we owed the State. Reckless and hardened as I know Craig to have been, I have no doubt he reflected upon Lee and his kindly words and was touched and softened by their memory, as he lay there stretched at full length on the grass, his pipe glowing cheerily between his lips. But if so, his thoughts remained unuttered, nor did I feel inclined to dwell upon the theme; and so, in the strength of a simple comradeship which could remain silent, we waited patiently for the night to close us in.

As early as we deemed it safe to venture, we were again in saddle, riding now straight to the westward, along the smooth-beaten pike, until we caught sight of the black shadow of Colton Church in our front; then we swerved to the left, and still moving rapidly but with considerate care for the horses, headed directly across the more broken country toward the foot-hills.

It proved to be a hard, toilsome climb up those long, steep slopes rising before us; for we were extremely careful now to keep well away from every known route of travel, and our horses, although selected from among the best mounts of the cavalry brigade, had already been thoroughly winded by their smart trot up the valley. The short grass under foot, crisp from the hot sun of the long afternoon, caused many a slip of the poorly shod hoofs, while the darkness had grown so close and dense about us that we could barely creep through it, with only faith and a doubtful memory as guides. Every road, we well knew, would be patrolled by Federal pickets; only the broken country between could yield us the faintest prospect of success. But at best it must largely be guesswork,—Providence, luck, what you will,—and the slightest swing of the pendulum could easily frustrate our best laid plans.

An hour of this work passed. Whether or not we were yet within the enemy's lines was largely conjecture, for no human eye could pierce the enveloping gloom, and no sound, either of warning or encouragement, reached us as we strained our ears. The Sergeant rode slightly in advance as we toiled up the higher terrace, for our sole dependence as to direction and distance was upon his memory, and even that could scarcely serve for much on such a night as this. I traced his passage upward as best I might, and pressed close after him, guided not so much by sight as by sound,—the occasional rolling of a loosened stone, the rustling of leaves as he touched a bush in passage, the faint clinking of his sabre, and the heavy breathing of his horse,—until at last his long, slender figure rose sufficiently above the dark hill surface to be faintly silhouetted in deeper shadow against the dim reflection of the upper sky. Almost coincidently with this my horse ranged up beside his, where he had drawn rein in evident perplexity.

“What is it, Dan?” I questioned cautiously; for all I could feel reasonably assured of just then was that behind any rock or tree in our front there might be crouching a Federal picket.

“It's nothing Cap,” he answered quietly, turning his face toward me as he spoke. “I'm just tryin' ter 'member some landmark yereabout ter guide from. Blamed if ever I see such a dark night; it's like bein' inside a pocket, sir, an' I reckon as how it must be nigh onter ten year since I run loose in this yere country as a kid. Thet thar cut-off we took a while back has sort o' confused me, that's a fac', and I don't just know whar I am; but I reckon as how the main ridge road we 're a huntin' after oughter run somewhar out yonder.” He pointed forward into the night.

“I supposed from the map it would be found farther back and considerably to the right of us,” I ventured doubtfully.

“Never saw no map, Cap,” he returned, with the easy familiarity of a scout on service. “But if I recollect clear, it sure used ter run mighty close ter the east edge. I reckon it ain't changed none to speak of, an' so it'll have ter be somewhere just along thar.”

He spoke with such an air of certainty that I felt any controversy useless.

“Very well; hand me your rein, and see what you can discover out there on foot. Sitting here isn't apt to mend matters, and we surely cannot afford to cripple our horses among those rocks.”

The Sergeant, a gaunt, tireless mountaineer, slipped silently from his saddle, swung his light cavalry carbine from his back to the hollow of his arm, and in another moment was lost to sight in the darkness. A snake could not have slipped away more stealthily. I heard a stone rattle under his foot, a half-suppressed oath, and then the night had completely swallowed him.

How utterly alone I seemed; how intensely, painfully still everything was! The silence felt almost like a weight, so greatly it oppressed me. Even the accustomed voices of nature were hushed, as if war, with its unspeakable cruelty, had cast a spell over all things animate and inanimate. It was weird, uncanny. With every nerve strained I leaned forward across the pommel of my saddle, listening for the slightest sound out in that black void. My head burned and throbbed as with fever, and I felt that strange, unnatural stillness as though it had been a physical thing; surely others besides us were upon this hilltop! For I knew well—my every soldier instinct told me—that somewhere out in that impenetrable mystery were blazing the camp-fires of an enemy. Vigilant eyes were peering everywhere in search for such as we. How far away they might lurk I could not even conjecture,—perhaps merely around some near projecting wall of rock,—and we might even now be within the range of their ready rifles. I could hear the quickened throbbing of my heart, and my hand fell heavily on a pistol butt in nervous expectancy.

The soft night wind, heavy with pine odors, began suddenly to play amid the leaves of a low tree beside me, and the pleasant rustling mingled like strains of music with the slow breathing of the horses, but no other sound broke a silence that had become a positive pain. Man at his best is largely a creature of impulse, and I confess to a feeling almost of terror as I sat there in utter loneliness. I glanced behind, hoping that there at least I might discover some object on which my gaze might settle, something that would relieve the intense nerve-strain of the black nothingness. I swept with staring eyes the half circle where I knew must lie the deep wide valley far beneath, but no welcome gleam of light greeted me. Far out yonder, as I well knew, was the cheery glow where our ragged, tired comrades rested around their night fires, but the bend of the land between shut it all off as completely as if I were already in another world, a denizen of those cold and silent stars so far away.

I recall it now as one of the loneliest moments of my life, one of those almost unaccountable conditions of mind and body when it seemed to me that the thin, sinewy fingers of an inexorable fate were closing down with a pressure which no strength of man might resist. I was worn with fatigue in the saddle, but did not dream of sleep; my mind, in a firm endeavor to cast aside the uncanny influences of the hour, recalled in swift panorama those three years of civil strife which had run their course since I, a slender, white-faced lad, had stolen forth into the moonlight from the portals of the old home, to ride away into the northward where the throbbing drums called me. In those days I understood but little of the cause for which I was so eager to fight and suffer. Possibly I cared even less; yet I had ever since blindly followed the faded, tattered flag of my native State with the same passionate devotion that possessed thousands of others, and with no clearer thought than to remain beside it to the bitter end.

What strange, exciting years those had been; how filled with adventure! Like pictures painted on a screen there flashed across my memory in vivid colors the camps and marches, the long night vigils, the swift sweep of the charging squadrons, the deadly shock of battle, the scouting across unknown country, the hours of pain while the soft moon smiled down upon a stricken field, the weary weeks in the low-roofed hospital at Richmond. It seemed hardly possible that I could be that same slender, untried lad who stole forth with quaking heart, fearful of the very shadows of the oaks about the old home. What centuries of experience lay between! The same boy, yet moulded now into a man; into the leader of a troop of fighting men, hardened to steel by service, trusted by one whom the South most revered and loved,—a veteran soldier in the ranks of the hardest fighting legions our world has ever known. Yet such had been the magic touch of war. So deeply had my every thought become merged in these musings that Craig, slipping silently as a ghost from out the engulfing darkness, laid hand upon my bridle-rein before I became aware of his approach.

“I got 'er all right now, Cap,” he announced quietly, peering up into my face. “We uns are not more nor a hundred yards ter the right of the road, but I reckon you'll find ther way a bit rough.”

He led both horses forward, moving slowly and with that silent caution so characteristic of his class. With scarcely the scraping of a hoof on the flinty rocks we came forth in safety upon the defined, hard-beaten track.

“The south is over yonder ter the left,” he whispered, as he swung up into saddle, “an' the trend of the road is mighty nigh due west.”

“But in which direction does their main camp lie, Sergeant?”

He shook his head gravely.

“Durn it; thet's just what I can't quite figure out, sir—whether we uns be to ther north or south of ther white church. Then, somehow or other, it seems like to me as if this yere road lay a bit too close ter the edge of ther plateau ter ever be the main pike what the Feds marched over. I reckon from ther direction it runs that maybe it might be a branch like, or a wood-road leadin' inter the other. If thet's the way it is, then them fellers we uns is tryin' ter dodge ought ter be down yonder ter the left somewhar.”

I gazed vaguely out into the black vacancy to which he pointed.

“Well, if we should chance to run up against one of their picket posts we shall be soon enlightened,” I returned, urging my horse carefully forward. “But we shall have to take the chances, for it would not prove healthy for either of us to be caught here by daylight.”

I heard Craig chuckle grimly to himself, as if he found humor in the thought, but without other attempt to give utterance to his feelings he ranged up close to my side.

Not daring to venture on any gait faster than a walk along this unknown and ill-defined mountain trail, we slowly and cautiously worked our way forward for more than an hour, meeting with no human obstacle to our progress, yet feeling that each step forward was surrounded by imminent peril. That we were now well within the guarded lines of the enemy we were both assured, although where or how we had succeeded in penetrating the cordon of picket posts unobserved we could only conjecture. The darkness about us seemed intensified by the high, overhanging bank of rock at our left; on the other side, and but dimly revealed against the sky-line, I could perceive Craig's gaunt figure as he leaned far over the high pommel of his cavalry saddle, his short carbine well advanced, his trained eyes seeking vainly to pierce the mystery in our front.

CHAPTER III. — AN UNWELCOME GUEST

This was the sort of work I had long ago learned to love; it warmed the blood, this constant certainty of imminent peril, this intense probability that any moment might bring a flash of flame into our very faces. Each step we took was now a stern, grim play with Fate, where the stakes were life and death. I felt my pulses throb as I rode steadily forward, fairly thrusting the darkness aside, my teeth hard set, my left hand heavy on a revolver butt.

How, in such a situation, the nerves tingle and the heart bounds to each strange sight and sound! Halt!—what was that? Pooh! no more than the deeper shadow of a sharply projecting rock, around which we pick careful way, our horses crowding against each other in the narrow space. And that? Nothing but the faint moan of the night wind amid the dead limbs of a tree. Ah! mark that sudden flash of light! The hand that closes iron-like upon the loosened rein opens again, for it was merely a star silently falling from out the black depths of the sky. Then both of us halt at once, and peer anxiously forward. The figure standing directly in the centre of our path, can it be a sentry at last? A cautious step forward, a low laugh from the Sergeant, and we circle the gaunt, blackened stump, as silent ourselves as the night about us, but with fiercely beating, expectant hearts.

But hark! Surely that was no common sound, born of that drear loneliness! No cavalryman can mistake the jingle of accoutrements or the dull thud of horses' hoofs. The road here must have curved sharply, for they were already so close upon us that, almost simultaneously with the sound, we could distinguish the deeper shadow of a small, compact body of horsemen directly in our front. To left of us there rose, sheer and black, the precipitous rock; to right we might not even guess what yawning void. It was either wit or sword-play now.

I know not how it may be with others in such emergencies, but with me it always happens that the sense of fear departs with the presence of actual danger. Before the gruesome fancies of imagination I may quake and burn like any maiden alone upon a city street at night, until each separate nerve becomes a very demon of mental agony; but when the real and known once fairly confronts me, and there is work to do, I grow instantly cool to think, resolute to act, and find a rare joy in it. It was so now, and, revolver in hand but hidden beneath my holster flap, I leaned over and touched Craig's arm.

“Keep quiet,” I whispered sternly. “Let them challenge first, and no firing except on my order.”

Almost with the words there came the sharp hail:

“Halt! Who comes there?”

I drew the cape of my riding-jacket closer, so as better to muffle the sound of my voice.

“Friends, of course; who would you expect to meet on this road?”

Fortune seemed with me in the chance answer, for he who had hailed exclaimed:

“Oh! is that you, Brennan?”

There was no time now for hesitancy; here was my cue, and I must plunge ahead, accepting the chances. I ventured it.

“No; Brennan couldn't come. I am here in his place.”

“Indeed! Who are you?”

“Major Wilkie.”

There was a moment's painful pause, in which I could hear my heart throb.

“Wilkie,” repeated the voice, doubtfully. “There is no officer of that name in the Forty-third.”

“Well, there chances to be such an officer on the staff,” I retorted, permitting a trace of anger to appear in my tone, “and I am the man.”

“What the devil is the difference, Hale, just what his name is?” boomed a deeper voice back in the group. “We are not getting up a directory of the Sixth Corps. Of course he's the man Brennan sent, and that is all we've got to look after.”

“Oh, all right, certainly, Major,” returned the first speaker, hastily. “But the night is so cussed black I supposed we must be at least a mile this side of where we were to meet. However, we have the lady here for you all right, and she is anxious enough to get on.”

The lady! Heavens! What odd turn of fortune's wheel was this? The lady! I heard Craig's smothered chuckle, but before I had sufficiently regained control over my own feelings to venture upon a suitable reply, the entire party had drawn forward, the leader pressing so close to my side that I felt safer with my face well shaded.

“Where is your escort, Major?” he asked, and the gruffness of his tone put me instantly on defence.

“Just behind us,” I returned, with affected carelessness, and determined now to play out the game, lady or no lady. I was extremely sorry for her, but the cause outweighed her comfort. “The Sergeant and I rode out ahead when we heard you coming. Where is the lady?”

He glanced around at the group huddled behind him.

“Third on the left.”

“All right, then. Nothing else, I believe”; for I was eager to get away. “Sergeant, just ride in there and lead, out her horse. We will have to be moving, gentlemen, for it is a rough road and a dark night.”

“Beastly,” assented the other, heartily.

I fairly held my breath as Craig rode forward. If one of them should chance to strike a match to light a pipe, or any false movement of Craig's should excite suspicion! If he should even speak, his soft Southern drawl would mean instant betrayal. And how coolly he went at it; with a sharp touch of the spur, causing his jaded horse to exhibit such sudden restlessness as to keep the escort well to one side, while he ranged close up to our unwelcome guest, and laying firm hand upon her horse's bit, led forth to where I waited. It was quickly, nobly done, and I could have hugged the fellow.

“Well, good luck to you, Major, and a pleasant ride. Remember me to Brennan. Deuced queer, though, why he failed to show up on such an occasion as this.”

“He was unfortunate enough to be sent out in the other direction with despatches—good-night, gentlemen.”

It was sweet music to me to listen to their hoof-beats dying rapidly away behind us as we turned back down the dark road, the Sergeant still riding with his one hand grasping the stranger's rein. I endeavored to scan her figure in the blackness, but found the effort useless, as little more than a shadow was visible. Yet it was impressed upon me that she sat straight and firm in the saddle, so I concluded she must be young. Rapidly I reviewed our predicament, and sought for some avenue of escape. If we were only certain as to where we were, we might plan with better prospect of success. The woman? Doubtless she would know, and possibly I might venture to question her without awakening suspicion. Surely the experiment was well worth trying.

“Madam,” I began, seeking to feel my way with caution into her confidence, “I fear you must be quite wearied by your long ride.”

She turned slightly at sound of my voice.

“Not at all, sir; I am merely eager to push on. Besides, my ride has not been a long one, as we merely came from General Sigel's headquarters.”

The voice was pleasantly modulated and refined.

“Ah, yes, certainly,” I stammered, fearful lest I had made a grave mistake. “But really I had supposed General Sigel was at Coultersville.”

“He advanced to Bear Creek yesterday,” she returned quietly. “So you see we had covered scarcely more than three miles when we met. How much farther is it to where Major Brennan is stationed?”

I fear I was guilty of hesitancy, but it was only for a moment.

“I am unable to tell exactly, for, as it chances, I have never yet been in the camp, but I should judge that two hours' riding will cover the distance.”

“Why,” in a tone of sudden surprise, “Captain Hale certainly told me it was all of twenty miles!”

“From Bear Creek?” I questioned eagerly, for it was my turn to feel startled now. “The map barely makes it ten.”

“It is but ten, and scarcely that, by the direct White Briar road, or, at least, so I heard some of the younger officers say; but it seems the Rebel pickets are posted so close to the White Briar that my friends decided it would be unsafe to proceed that way.”

This was news indeed,—news so unexpected and startling that I forgot all caution.

“Then what road do they call this?”

She laughed at my evident ignorance, as well as the eagerness of my tone.

“Really, you are a most peculiar guide,” she exclaimed gayly. “You almost convince me that you are lost. Fortunately, sir, out of my vast knowledge of this mysterious region, I am able to enlighten you to some extent. We are now riding due southward along the Allentown pike.”

Craig leaned forward so as to look across her horse's neck to where I rode on the opposite side.

“May I speak a word, sir?” he asked cautiously.

“Certainly, Sergeant; do you make anything out of all this?”

“Yes, sir,” he answered eagerly. “I know now exactly how we missed it, and where we are. The cut-off to the White Briar I spoke to you about this afternoon cannot be more than a hundred yards below here.”

“Ride ahead carefully then, and see if you can locate it. Be cautious; there may be a picket stationed there. We will halt where we are until you return.”

He swung forward his carbine where it would be handy for instant service and trotted ahead into the darkness. The woman's horse, being comparatively fresh and restless, danced a little in an effort to follow, but I restrained him with a light hand on the bit, and for a moment we sat waiting in silence. Then her natural curiosity prompted a question.

“Why is it you seem so anxious to discover this cutoff?”

“We merely desire to take advantage of the more direct road,” I replied somewhat shortly. “Besides, we are much farther to the east than I had supposed, and therefore too close to the lines of the enemy.”

“How strange it is you should not have known!” she exclaimed in a voice of indignant wonder; but as I made no reply she did not venture to speak again.

My thoughts at that moment, indeed, were not with her, although I kept firm hold upon her rein. I was eager to be off, to make up by hard riding the tedious delay of this night's work, and constantly listening in dread for some sounds of struggle down the roadway. But all remained silent until I could dimly distinguish the returning hoof-beats of the Sergeant's horse; and so anxious was I to economize time that I was already urging our mounts forward when his shadow grew black in front, and he wheeled in at my side.

“No picket there, sir.”

“Very well, Sergeant; when we come to the turn you are to ride a few rods in advance of us, and will set a good pace, for now we must make up for all this lost time.”

I caught the motion of his hand as it was lifted in salute.

“Very well, sir; here is the turn—to your right.”

I could dimly distinguish the opening designated, and as we wheeled into it he at once clapped spurs to his horse and forged ahead. In another moment he had totally disappeared, and as I urged our reluctant mounts to more rapid speed all sound of his progress was instantly lost in the pounding of our own hoofs on the hard road.

It was like riding directly against a black wall, and far from comforting to the nerves, for the path was a strange one, and not too well made. Fortunately the horses followed the curves without mishap, save an occasional awkward stumble amid loose stones, while the high walls of rock on either hand made a somewhat denser shadow where they shut off the lower stars, and thus helped me to guide our progress.

But it was no time for conversation, even had the inclination been mine, for every nerve was now strained to intensity as I spurred on my horse and held tightly to the bridle of the other, almost cursing, as I rode, the unlucky chance which brought us such a burden on a night like this.

CHAPTER IV. — A WOMAN WITH A TEMPER

I thought the stars grew somewhat brighter as we galloped on, the iron-shod hoofs now and then striking out sudden sparks of yellow flame from the flinty surface of the road; but this may have resulted from the lowering of the rocky barriers on either side, making the arch of sky more clearly visible. The air perceptibly freshened, with a chilly mountain wind beating against our faces and rustling the leaves of the phantom trees that lined the way. The woman rode silently and well. I could make out her figure now, dim and indistinct as the outlines were in that darkness and wrapped in the loose folds of an officer's cloak. She was sitting firm and upright in the saddle; I even marked how, with the ease and grace of a practical horsewoman, she held the reins.

I think we must have been fully an hour at it, riding at no mean pace, and with utter disregard of danger. Although I knew little of where we were, and nothing as to the condition of the path we traversed, yet so complete was my confidence in Craig that I felt no hesitancy in blindly following the pace he set. Then a black shape loomed up before us so suddenly that it was only by a quick effort I prevented a collision. Even as I held my horse poised half in air, I perceived it was Craig who blocked the way.

“What is it, Sergeant?”

“A picket, sir, at the end of the road,” he said quietly.

“I kinder reckoned they'd hev some sort o' guard thar, so I crept up on the quiet ter be sure. The feller helped me out a bit by strikin' a match ter see what time 't was, or I reckon I'd a walked over him in ther dark.”

“Had we better ride him down?” I asked, thinking only how rapidly the night hours were speeding and of the importance of the duty pressing upon us.

“Not with ther woman, sir,” he answered in a low, reproachful voice. “Besides, we never could git through without a shot, an' if by any dern luck it should turn out ter be a cavalry outpost,—an' I sorter reckon that's what it is,—why, our horses are in no shape fer a hard run. You uns better wait here, sir, an' let me tend ter that soger man quiet like, an' then p'raps we uns kin all slip by without a stirrin' up ther patrol.”

“Well,” I said, reluctantly yielding to what I felt was doubtless the wiser course, and mechanically grasping the rein he held out to me, “go ahead. But be careful, and don't waste any time. If we hear the sound of a shot we shall ride forward under spur.”

“All right, sir, but there 'll be no fuss, fer I know just whar ther fellar is.”

Time seems criminally long when one is compelled to wait in helpless uncertainty, every nerve on strain.

“Hold yourself ready for a sudden start,” I said warningly to my companion. “If there is any noise of a struggle yonder I shall drive in the spurs.”

As I spoke I swung the Sergeant's horse around to my side, where I could control him more readily.

There was no reply from the woman, but I noticed she endeavored to draw together the flapping cape of her cloak, as though she felt chilled by the wind, and her figure seemed to stiffen in the saddle.

“Are you cold?” I questioned, more perhaps to throttle my own nervousness by speech than from better motive.

She shook her head; then, as if thinking better of it, answered lightly:

“The wind appears to find no obstacle in this cloak, but I am not suffering.”

I wrapped the loose rein of Craig's horse about the pommel of my saddle and bent toward her.

“Permit me,” I said; “you probably do not comprehend the intricacies of a cavalry cloak. If I fasten these upper frogs I think it will help to keep out the night air.”

Without protest she permitted me to draw the flapping cloth together and fasten it closer about her throat; but whatever tantalizing curiosity I may have felt to view her face was effectually blocked by the high collar behind which she immediately took refuge.

“I am sure that will be much better; you are very kind.” The words were pleasant enough, yet there was something in both tone and manner that piqued me, and I turned away without speaking.

It came at last—not the sharp flash of a musket cleaving the night in twain, but merely the tall figure of the Sergeant, stealing silently out of the gloom, like a black ghost, and standing at our very horses' heads.

“All clear, sir,” he reported in a matter-of-fact tone. “But we shall hev ter move mighty quiet, fer ther main picket post ain't more nor a hundred yards ter the right o' ther crossin'.”

He did not remount, but, with reins flung loosely over his arm, led the way slowly forward, and carefully we followed him.

What had become of the sentinel I did not know, respecting Craig's evident desire for silence; but as we drew nearer the White Briar road I sought in vain to pierce the dense gloom and note some sign of a struggle, some darker shadow where a body might be lying. There was nothing visible to tell the story.

The Sergeant walked without the least hesitation across the open space, directly into the deep shadows opposite, where the cross-road continued to hold way. Crouching low in the saddle, we followed him as silently as though we were but spirits of the night. Up the road I caught the red gleam of a fire almost spent, and a black figure crossed between us, casting an odd shadow against the face of the rock where it was lighted by the flickering red blaze. It was all over in a moment, a mere glimpse, but it formed one of those sudden pictures which paint themselves on the brain and can never after be effaced. I recall yet the long shade cast by the man's gun, the grotesque shape of his flapping army overcoat, the quick change in the silhouette as he wheeled to retrace his beat. But there was no noise, not even the sound of his footsteps reaching us. Even as I gazed, lying nearly full length upon my horse, we had crossed the open, and a perfect tangle of low bushes hid us as completely as if we had entered the yawning mouth of a cavern.

A hundred yards or more of sharply curving road densely lined with shrubbery on either hand, and then Craig swung into saddle and again gave spur to his horse.

“We must ride for it now,” he said tersely. “When thet patrol makes their round, them fellers will be after us hot.”

I urged my tired horse to a gallop, pressing upon Craig's heels as closely as I dared; nor did I glance back, for I knew well that a dead picket was lying somewhere by the cross-roads, and that his comrades would be heard from before the dawn.

We were moving bravely now; for the road under foot grew better as we advanced, and gave back the dull thud of soft earth instead of the rattling clang of the rocks we had been so long accustomed to. I forced the scabbard of my sabre beneath the bend of my knee to keep it from clanging against the iron stirrup, and only the breathing of the horses, and their heavy pounding on the earth, broke the night silence. Craig was riding directly in my front, sitting erect as if on parade, and the woman's horse kept up the pace without apparent effort. Surely we had already covered a good safe mile from where we had left the dead soldier to tell his speechless story, and the way ahead was clear. My spirits rose buoyantly with every stride of the horse, and my faith, never long dormant, already saw my task accomplished, my pledge to Lee fulfilled.

But it is the unexpected which masters us in the end. I had all but completely shut the dark night from my thoughts. I suppose, in truth, I was as keenly observant as ever, but it now seems to me that I was riding that black road with closed eyes, so busy were my thoughts elsewhere. Then, suddenly, my horse was jerked almost to a standstill, the hand upon his bit seemingly as hard as my own, and I wheeled in the saddle, pressing my knees tightly to prevent being thrown, only to perceive the woman tugging desperately at the lines.

“What now?” I asked sharply, and in sudden anger I forced her to release her grasp. “We must ride, and ride hard, madam, to be out of this cordon by daylight.”

“Ride where?”

She faced me stiffly, and there was a slight sting in her voice, I felt.

“Where?” I repeated; then partially gathering my scattered wits: “Why, to the camp we are seeking, of course.”

I was conscious that her eyes were striving anxiously to see my face in the darkness,—that her suspicions were now fully aroused; yet her quick retort surprised me.

“You lie!” she said coldly. “That was a Federal picket he killed.”

It was no time for argument, and I knew it. Any moment might bring to us the sound of hoof-beats in pursuit; more, I realized that anything I might hope to say would only tend to make matters worse. There was but one course open. She must be compelled to ride, by force if necessary. Why should I hesitate? She had no claim on my consideration, and I hardened my heart to make her comprehend, once and for all, that I was the master. Even as I reached this decision, Craig, noting our pause, had ridden back, and reined in beside us without a word.

“You are right,” I said tersely. “In one sense of the word you are prisoner, for the time being at least, but not through any wish of mine. We do not make war on women, and your being in this situation is altogether an accident. However, be that as it may, we must, first of all, protect ourselves. I would very gladly leave you with your friends, if possible, but as things have shaped themselves there remains but one alternative—you must ride as I order.”

I could mark her quick breathing while I spoke, and when I concluded one hand went up to her throat as if she choked.

“You—you are not Major Brennan's friend then? You were not sent by Frank to meet me?” The questions burst from her lips so rapidly that I scarcely caught their import.

“I am Captain Philip Wayne, ——th Virginia Cavalry, at your service, madam,” I said calmly, “and to the best of my knowledge I have not the pleasure of Major Brennan's acquaintance.”

She seemed not to know what to say, and sat there staring at me through the darkness, as she might have gazed in speechless horror at some wild animal she expected would spring upon her.

“A Rebel!” The hated word hissed from her lips as if the utterance burned them.

“Yes, madam,” I said, somewhat coldly, for I was not especially fond of the term, “that is what they call us on your side, but also an officer and a gentleman.”

I doubt if she even heard me. All I know is she suddenly lifted the heavy riding whip that was clinched in her right hand, struck me with it full across the face, and then, as I quickly flung up my own arm to ward off a second blow, she sent the lash swirling down upon the flank of her horse. With one bound the maddened animal wrenched the reins from out my hands, nearly dragging me from the saddle, and swerved sharply to the left. There was a shock, a smothered oath, a moment's fierce struggle in the darkness, the sharp ping of the whip as it came down once, twice—then silence, broken only by deep breathing.

“I've got her, Captain,” chuckled the Sergeant, softly, “but dog-gone if I know what to do with her.”

There was small sentiment of mercy in my heart as I drew up toward them, for my cheek burned where the lash had struck as though scorched with fire. For the moment I felt utterly indifferent to all claims of her womanhood. She had unsexed herself, and deserved treatment accordingly. It was thus I felt as I clinched my teeth in pain; but when I saw her leaning helplessly forward on her horse's neck, all bravado gone, her hands pinioned behind her in the iron grip of the Sergeant, my fierce resentment died away within me.

“Let go her hands. Craig.” I commanded briefly.

She lifted her body slightly from its cramped, uncomfortable posture, but her head remained bowed.

“Madam,”—I spoke sternly, for moments were of value now,—“listen to what I say. We are Confederate soldiers passing through the Federal lines with despatches. In order to save ourselves from discovery and capture we were compelled to take you in charge. It was the fortune of war. If now we could honorably leave you here we would most gladly do so, for having you with us adds vastly to our own danger; but these mountains are simply overrun with wandering guerillas who would show you neither respect nor mercy. We simply dare not, as honorable men, leave you here unprotected, and consequently you must continue to ride in our company. Now answer me plainly, will you proceed quietly, or shall we be compelled to tie you to your horse?”

I knew she was crying; but with an effort she succeeded in steadying her voice sufficiently to reply.

“I will go,” she said.

“Thank you,” and I gravely lifted my hat as I spoke. “You have saved me a most unpleasant duty. You may ride on, Sergeant; this lady and I will follow, as before.”

She scarcely changed her posture as I spurred forward, riding now so close to her side that I could feel the flap of her saddle rise and fall against my knee. Whatever of evil she may have thought of us, I felt that she was sorry enough now for her hasty action, and I forgave the pain that yet stung me, and longed, without well knowing how, to tell her so.

CHAPTER V. — A DISASTER ON THE ROAD

To me she was merely a woman whom it had become my duty to protect, and whatever of chivalrous feeling I may have held toward her was based upon nothing deeper than this knowledge. She had come to us undesired and in darkness, her form enveloped in a cavalry cloak, her face shrouded by the night. As to whether she was young or old I had scarce means of knowing, saving only that the tone of her voice and the graceful manner of her riding made me confident that she had not lost the agility of youth. But beyond this vague impression (it was little more), and a fleeting gleam of the starlight in her eyes as she faced me in anger, I was as totally unaware of how she really looked as though we had never met. Her very name was unknown to me. Who was this Major Brennan? Was he father, brother, or husband? and was her name Brennan also? For some reason this last possibility was repugnant to me. Yet I knew not why.

I turned these thoughts over in my mind, speculating idly upon them, not because I felt any interest in their solution, or in the woman riding at my side, but because they seemed to fall into order to the steady music of my horse's feet and the darkness of the night. “No,” I said to myself, “there is certainly no leaving her except in a disciplined camp; young or old, Yankee or what not, she is in our care, and we'll keep her out of the hands of those cut-throats between the lines.”

I glanced toward her, wondering what the morning light might reveal as to her appearance. She was sitting erect and easy in the saddle, yet seemed to ride with her face averted from me.

“You ride as though born to the saddle,” I said pleasantly; and although I spoke low, we were so close together that my voice carried distinctly to her ears. “We have been sufficiently conceited to suppose that to be an accomplishment peculiar to our Southern women.”

“I have been accustomed to ride since childhood,” she replied rather shortly, and I was conscious of a restraint in her manner far from pleasing. Yet I ventured upon one more effort at conversation.

“Is Major Brennan an officer on Sheridan's staff?”

“I was not aware “—and I could not mistake the accent of vindictiveness in her voice—“that prisoners were obliged to converse against their will.”

My lady certainly possessed a temper of her own, and I was obliged to smile there in the dark at her high head and quick retort.

“I ask your pardon, I am sure,”—I returned soberly. “But my question was not altogether an idle one. I have chanced to meet several of General Sheridan's staff, and thought possibly Major Brennan might have been of their number. Seeing that we must associate for a time, I naturally felt it would prove pleasanter for both of us if we might discover some mutual tie.”

There was no response. Her eyes were fastened upon the road ahead, and evidently my lady possessed no desire for the discovery of any such tie. Watching her, I pressed my lips together, and held her as a proud and silly fool.

I would perform my full duty toward her, of course, but beyond that I would go no further.

The pace we were travelling had already told severely on the horses, although hers was by far the best and freshest of the three. My own brave sorrel had stumbled several times already in a way that gave me no small uneasiness, yet I durst not venture to draw rein or even slacken speed. Already, beyond a doubt, the patrol in our rear had missed the picket stationed at the crossroads, had searched until they found the lifeless body where Craig had hidden it, and were now hot upon our trail. Hard, continuous riding alone could save us—riding with a thoroughly aroused enemy at our heels, and yet another picket line to pass before we could even hope for a clear sweep into safety.

The road we were following here took a sudden trend downward, and we could tell from the sharper ring of the hoofs, and the spitting of flinty sparks beneath us, that we were among rocks once more. Then our horses suddenly splashed into water, and I held them up long enough to drink. I felt thirst strongly myself, and slipping out of the saddle, filled my canteen.

“Would you care for a drink?” I asked, stemming the stream to reach her side, and holding the vessel within easy grasp of her hand.

I actually believe her first impulse was to refuse haughtily this proffered civility from an enemy of her country, but the deep sense of need conquered foolish pride and caused her to accept the offering.

“I am very thankful to you,” she said, handing back the canteen; yet the words were spoken in mockery. I ignored them, and swung into my saddle without response.

Another hill followed, and then another, and finally we swept swiftly down a long slope densely bordered by trees and with irregular piles of rock uprearing ugly heads on either hand. A little edge of the waning moon began to peep over the ridge of the hill, and yielded sufficient light to enable our eyes to discern dimly the faint track we followed. I remember remarking the blacker figure of the Sergeant ahead of us, and already halfway down the long decline. I caught a swift glimpse of a rough log house on the right, so set back among trees that I half doubted its real existence, when—there was a slip, the crunching of a stone, a long stumble forward that fairly wrenched my hand loose from the woman's rein, and then, hopelessly struggling to regain his feet, my horse went down with a crash, head under, and I was hurled heavily forward upon my face.

Severely bruised by the shock, but fortunately without broken bones, I recall half-wheeling even as I fell, wondering if my prisoner would grasp this opportunity for escape. Quite probably the thought never occurred to her; perhaps her woman's heart, in the stress of such accident, held her motionless. But Craig, startled at the sudden crash behind him, spurred back to learn the full extent of my disaster. By this time I had regained my feet.

“I'm all right, I think, Sergeant,” I said hastily, “but the sorrel has broken her neck.”

He began to swear at our ill luck, but I stopped him with a gesture he knew better than to ignore.

“Enough of that,” I commanded sternly. “Bad fortune is seldom bettered by hard words. First of all, help me to drag this dead body out of sight.”

On one side of us the bank fell away with such precipitancy that when we once succeeded in dragging our load to the edge, we experienced no difficulty in sending it crashing downward. The body plunged through the thick underbrush at the bottom of the gorge, where I knew it would be completely hidden, even in the glare of daylight, from the prying eyes of any troopers riding hard upon our track. With a branch, hastily wrenched from a near-by tree, I carefully raked over the track, so that, as far as I could determine in the dim light, all outward trace of my accident had been fairly obliterated.

As we rapidly worked on this disagreeable task, I thought and planned: two horses and three riders,—one of these latter a woman in need of protection,—a despatch to be delivered by daylight, at all hazards. It was indeed a difficult proposition, and I saw only a single possible solution. One of our number must press on; two of us must remain behind. Which one? what two? If I rode with the despatch (and how eagerly I longed to do so!), and succeeded in bringing Lee's message safe to Longstreet, it meant much to me—promotion, distinction, honor. On the other hand, if I remained behind, and Craig successfully carried out the duty which had been especially intrusted to me, I should be fortunate indeed to escape with a reprimand instead of more serious consequences. If failure resulted, it meant certain and deserved disgrace. Yet I could absolutely trust him with the despatch; he was a soldier, and would faithfully perform a soldier's duty. More, he would carry the message with even greater certainty than I, for he knew the roads much better, and—I write the words hesitatingly—I could not trust him there alone with the woman.

I glanced aside at him as I thus turned the perplexing situation over in my mind,—a tall, gaunt mountaineer, whose sole discipline of mind and body had been the army; hardened by service until every muscle in his lean, sinewy frame was like steel, a cavalryman who would follow his leader into the very jaws of hell, but whose morals were those of the camp, and whose face revealed audacious deviltry such as no man would care to see in one to whom he intrusted the welfare of sister or wife. Recalling to mind certain idle stories that circulated through the camp from time to time, in which his name had figured, I glanced backward to where the woman sat her horse in silence and loneliness, and made my resolve: I would risk the censure; if there must be sacrifice it should be mine.

“Sergeant,” I asked, flinging aside the improvised brush, “how far do you suppose we are from Longstreet's picket line?”

“Ten miles at the very best, sir,” he answered promptly, “an' I reckon with another Yankee outpost atween.”

“With fair luck and good riding it might be made by daylight?”

“I reckon as how it might, Captain, if we only hed sum fresh hosses,” he said glumly; “but it's bin mighty hard on my nag; I've looked fer him to roll over like yer sorrel did fer the las' two mile.”

“Well, Craig, you shall have both horses. Ride the woman's, it is the fresher of the two; but you are to get through if you kill them both and then walk.”

His face brightened, and he raised his hand in salute.

“And you?” he asked wonderingly.

“I remain with the woman; there is no other way. Wait here a moment while I speak with her.”

I left him standing there, and moved back to where she waited. As I came up she faced me, and for the first time (for the night had lightened somewhat) I could see her eyes and discern some faint outline of her face where the night wind flung back the upturned cape. It was a winsome sight to soldier vision, but with a certain semblance of pride and reserve about it that caused a hesitancy in my speech strange enough to me. I felt oddly like a bashful boy, and involuntarily lifted my hat as I approached, to cover my confusion. Some trick of the dancing moon shadows made me imagine that she smiled, and the sight nerved me instantly to speak bluntly the words I came to say.

“Madam”—I rested my hand upon her horse's mane and looked up at her with a glance as proud as her own,—“it might be as well for you to draw the cape closer about your face at present. There are rough men in all armies who would consider your beauty a lawful prize. The life we lead is not conducive to gentleness; virtue is not born in camps, and it would be better not to provoke a danger which may be so easily avoided.”

A wave of sudden color swept her cheeks at my plain speech, and her hand sought the collar of the cloak, yet paused there irresolute.

“You claimed, I believe, to be an officer and a gentleman,” she said coldly.

I smiled, even as I felt the full chill of her words, and my purpose stiffened within me.

“Even as I yet claim, and trust to be able to prove to your satisfaction,”—my eyes looked unfalteringly into hers,—“but, unfortunately, I have one with me to-night who is neither. I would that he were for my own sake. However, madam, let that pass. The fact is here, and we have no time to argue or quarrel. I have already told you that we ride with despatches for Longstreet. These must go forward at all hazards, for thousands of human lives depend upon them; yet I dare not leave you here alone and unprotected to the mercies of the wolves who haunt these hills.”

“You are exceedingly kind.”

The tone in which she spoke was most sarcastic, “I thank you for your approbation,” and I bowed again; “but I venture to tell you this merely because I have already fully determined to despatch the Sergeant forward with the message, and remain behind myself to render you every protection possible.”

“Do you mean that we are to remain here alone?”

“There is no other way.”

She made no reply, but her proud unbelieving eyes were no longer upon my face.

“I beg you to believe, madam,” I pleaded gently, for I confess my interest in her good opinion was growing stronger, “that I do this only because I believe it to be a duty, and not that I desire in any way to distress you with my presence.”

She swept my upturned face suddenly with questioning eyes.

“As your prisoner I presume I have no choice in the matter.”

“I should prefer that you took a different view, but in a measure you are right.”

“Very well, sir; I simply yield to what I am powerless to avoid, and will obey your orders however distasteful they may be. What is your first command?”

“That you dismount. The Sergeant must ride your horse, as he is the more fit of the two.”

Greatly to my surprise and relief she placed her gauntleted hand in mine, and, without so much as a word of protest, permitted me to swing her lightly from the saddle to the ground.

“Craig,” I called, “come here”; and turning to her, added quietly, “Kindly draw up your cape for a moment.”

I noticed her hands fasten the clasps, which had become loosened, and that she turned partially so as to look backward up the road as the Sergeant drew near.

“You know your work,” I said to him briefly. “And now the sooner you are at it the better. Ride this horse and lead your own. As soon as you deliver Lee's message at headquarters, hunt up the cavalry brigade commander and report to him my position. Get a detail, insist upon one, and be back here by to-morrow without fail. That is all.”

He saluted, wheeled about, swung lightly into saddle, and rode off on a rapid trot, grasping, as he passed down the hill, the rein of his own mount, and leading it, lagging, behind him, until the night swallowed the figures, and even the sound of the hoof-beats could be no longer heard. We were alone.

CHAPTER VI. — A STRUGGLE IN THE DARK

I have seldom been more deeply embarrassed than at that moment. I knew not what to say or how best to approach this young woman left so strangely to my protection. The very fact, which I now realized, that she was both young and fair added some indefinite burden and complicated the delicate situation. I saw no safety for us but in careful hiding until Craig could return, a squad of hard-riding troopers at his back. To permit the girl to venture forward alone through the desolate country we were in, overrun as I knew it to be by irregular bands whose sole purpose was plunder, and whose treatment of women had made my blood run cold as I listened to its recital, was not to be so much as thought of. Even if, by rare good fortune, she should succeed in safely reaching the Federal picket post in our front, the men on duty there were just as likely as not to prove of the same desperate stamp, and every indignity might be offered her were she to appear alone. Nor could I venture to accompany her on such a trip, for to do so would but assure my own capture, and involve months of confinement in Northern prisons, even were I fortunate enough to escape with life. Wearing as I did the full field uniform of my rank, it was hardly probable that regular troops would treat me as a spy, even though caught within their lines; but if we fell into the hands of guerillas it would be a short shrift indeed.

There was no help for it, and but one way out, disagreeable as that might prove to my lady. She stood there before me, motionless and silent as a statue, exactly where she had alighted when the Sergeant took her horse, and it seemed to me I could plainly read righteous indignation in the indistinct outline of her figure and the haughty pose of her head. To her at that moment I was evidently a most disagreeable and even hated companion, a “Rebel,” the being of all others she had been taught to despise, the enemy of all she held sacred. “Could any good thing come out of Nazareth?”

Well, unpleasant as was the task, it had to be done, so, mustering my courage for the ordeal as I never had to do in time of battle, I advanced toward her, hat in hand. She never so much as glanced about at the sound of my footsteps, nor deigned by the slightest motion to acknowledge my presence. So intense, indeed, was her evident sense of indignity that it awoke within me something akin to anger at her unreasonableness, and for the moment I clinched my teeth to keep back the hot words burning upon my tongue. Then I smiled grimly with the rare humor of it, and became myself once more.

“The time has come when it becomes my duty to look after your comfort and safety,” I said, striving to disguise all self-consciousness. “Every moment we delay now merely increases the danger of our remaining here.”

“I imagine I might very easily dispense with any further care on your part.”

Her reply nettled me, and I answered with an earnestness which she could neither ignore nor check: “Possibly you may think so, but if you do it is merely because of your utter ignorance of the disorganized conditions which prevail in these mountains. Your pride is almost ridiculous under all the circumstances. You have no just cause to feel that I am forcing myself unnecessarily upon you. Our being compelled to take you in charge has proven as disastrous to us as to you. Personally I can say that nothing will relieve me more than to be able to place you uninjured into the care of your own people. I would willingly assume great risks to that end. But while you remain here and in my care, I shall perform my full duty toward you as though you were my own sister. Now please listen to me, and I assure you I shall speak nothing for the mere purpose of alarming you, but simply that you may better comprehend the facts which must influence our present relationship. I have sent forward Sergeant Craig with the message especially intrusted to me for delivery, and thus, if it fail to reach its destination, I have laid myself open to the charge of a grave military crime. In doing this I have not only perilled my own future, but the lives of my comrades and the faith of my commander. Yet I have deliberately chosen to do so because I feel the impossibility of leaving you here unprotected, and because I was unwilling to trust you alone with my companion. I made this choice, remember, without in the least knowing whether you were young or old, worthy of respect or unworthy. I did it because you were a woman, alone and without friends. Whether you spurn my protection or not will make no difference; I shall simply continue to do what I may on your behalf until you are again in the hands of those you trust.”

“But why may I not go to them now?”

The question was impetuous, but the voice sounded more gentle. My words had at least pierced her armor.

“Simply because I dare not permit you to traverse these roads alone,” I said soberly. “The mountains all about us, deserted as they now appear, are filled with wandering bands of desperate and hunted men whose tenderest mercy is death. Any rock may be the hiding-place of an outlaw, any dark ravine the rendezvous of as wild a gang as ever murdered for plunder. For months past—yes, for years—the two great armies have scouted these hills, have battled for them, and every forward or backward movement of the contesting lines has left its worthless horde of stragglers behind, until with guerilla and bushwhacker, fleeing conscript and deserter, it has become such a meeting-place of rascality and crime as to be a veritable hell on earth.”

“But the Sergeant said there was a Federal picket post at the crossing of the White Briar.”

Her voice trembled as she spoke.

“He merely supposed there would be; but even if it were true, we have no positive means of knowing that the men stationed there would be of the regular service. Doubtless these thieving, murdering bands—such as that headed by Red Lowrie, of whom you may have heard—are sufficiently organized to keep patrols posted, and may, indeed, be utilized at times by both armies for that purpose. Were you to go to them you might be simply walking into a den of wolves.”

“But could you not go with me?”

I smiled at the naive innocence of her query.

“I wish you to feel that I have never thought so much about my own danger as about yours,” I returned quietly. “But would it be a pleasure even to you to behold me swinging from the limb of a tree, hung as a spy without trial, merely because I ventured to walk with you into a Federal camp?”

I could see her eyes now resting full upon me, and much of the hardness and doubt seemed to have gone out of them as she scanned my uncovered features in the dim light. I scarcely think I was ever considered a handsome man even by my friends, but I was young then, frank of face, with that about me which easily inspired confidence, and it did me good to note how her eyes softened, and to mark the perceptible tremor in her voice as she cried impulsively:

“Oh, no! Not that!”

“Your words yield me new heart,” I replied fervently, determined, now that the ice was partially broken, to permit no excuse for its again forming, “for if you but once fully realize our situation you will certainly feel that I am merely endeavoring to perform my plain duty. I know not how I could do less without forfeiting entirely your respect. Now one thing more—please banish from your thought the idea that you are in any way a prisoner; forget, if possible, the color of my uniform, and think of me simply as an officer of equal rank and standing with those you know in your own army,—one who stands ready, if need arise, to protect you with his life; as glad to serve you as if he wore the blue instead of the gray.”

I believed for a moment my words had appealed to her nobler nature; that she would outstretch to me her slightly uplifted hand and surrender utterly. But it was only for the moment; whatever wave of emotion may have moved her to the gesture, it was as suddenly swept aside by a return of the old proud, impetuous spirit.

“I will, of course, bow to the inevitable, sir,” she said, “and shall endeavor to adapt myself to the requirements of my unfortunate situation. May I venture to inquire what you now propose to do?”

I confess to experiencing a quick feeling of resentment as I turned to scan the dim surroundings, not knowing at the moment how best to answer her. Who was this girl, that she should continue to bear herself as a disdainful queen might toward the very meanest of her subjects? Was I so far beneath her, even in the social scale, as to warrant such assumption of superiority? No, I felt that this was not the cause of her cold suspicion, her proud, unapproachable bearing. Undoubtedly it arose from the manner in which she had fallen into our hands, the strangeness and delicacy of our situation, the knowledge that I was a “Rebel” in arms against her people. These were the things which had reared such a barrier between us. She but resorted to what was apparently her only available weapon of defence. Well, of one thing, and that the most important, I was now assured—there would occur no further struggle on her part; if not fully resigned to the situation, she at least realized the necessity of obedience to my will. This was much; but now what could I do with her?

To the right of where we stood the ground sloped rapidly downward until the dense darkness at the foot of the steep defile shrouded everything from view. The descent appeared rocky and impracticable, and I could distinguish the sound of rapid water far below. On the opposite side stood a dense wood, the outer fringe of trees overhanging the road, and through the waving leaves the moonlight checkered the ground with silver, while the dense mass beyond seemed to flow back up the steep side of the mountain, thick with underbrush. Just below us, and possibly fifty feet from the highway, I could perceive a small one-story log cabin, as silent, gloomy, and deserted to all outward appearance as were the sombre woods of which it formed a part.

“There seems small choice,” I said, speaking as cheerfully as possible. “But I propose to investigate the log hut yonder, and learn if it may not afford some degree of shelter.”

She glanced furtively in the direction pointed out, and her eyes mirrored the sudden fear that swept into them.

“Oh, no!” she cried impulsively, “I could never venture into that horrible place.”

It did, indeed, look uncanny enough in its black loneliness, a fit abiding place for ghost and goblin damned; but I was not inclined to yield to superstitious dread.

“Certainly not,” I answered, “until after I have investigated it. Perhaps it may prove more attractive within than without, although, I confess, from here it appears gloomy enough to discourage any one. However, if you will rest here, in the shadow of these trees, I will soon discover whether it has inmates or not.”

She followed me in silence across the road to the spot designated, but as I turned to leave her seated upon the grass, and well protected from prying eyes, she hurried quickly after me, and in her agitation so far forgot herself as to touch my sleeve with her hand.

“Oh, please do not leave me here alone. I am not naturally timid, yet everything is so gloomy I cannot stand it. Let me go with you, if you must go!”

“Most assuredly you shall if you desire,” I returned heartily. “But really there is not a particle of danger in this, for if the house were inhabited its occupants would have been aroused long ago. Follow just behind me, and we shall soon solve the mystery.”

There appeared before us a dim, little-used path leading in among the trees, and following its erratic curves we were soon before the cabin, which grew ever more uninviting as we drew near. As I paused a moment before the closed door, in order that I might listen for any possible sound within, I could hear her quick breathing, as though the terror of the moment had driven all else from her mind.

“Do not feel frightened,” I said, seeking to reassure her. “There is nothing here more terrifying than a vacant house, doubtless long since deserted. We shall discover nothing more formidable within than a rat or two.”

The wooden latch yielded readily enough to my pressure, and pushing wide open the door, which creaked slightly upon its rusty hinges, I stepped across the puncheon threshold onto the hard earthen floor. There was no window visible, and the slight reflection of moonlight which crept in through the doorway scarcely revealed the nature of that dark interior. I could dimly perceive what I believed to be a table directly in front of me, while certain other indistinct and ill defined shadows might be chairs pushed back against the wall. At least this room was without occupants; yet it was with every sense alert that I entered, pressing slowly past the table toward where I felt the fireplace would naturally be, knowing that my companion was yet with me, her hand clutching my arm.

“Oh!” she cried sharply in terror, “what was that?”

It was something certainly,—a deadened, muffled, shuffling sound directly in our front, followed by a strange noise of scraping, as if with a dull knife on wood.

“Wait here.” I said sternly. “Probably it is nothing more dangerous than a rat.”

I felt my way carefully around the table, a revolver ready in my hand. There was nothing to be found there,—nothing, indeed, in the room; for from my new position I could look backward and distinguish in the moonlight the details of that simple, squalid interior. I ran my hand along the rough logs of the further wall. Ay! here was a break, doubtless a door; and groping along the crack I found the latch.

There was no longer any noise audible, and I drew the door inward, never dreaming of danger. Suddenly, with a fierce, wild spring out of the dark, a huge body hurled itself directly at my throat, striking with such headlong impetus that I went backward as if shot, crashing against the table, then to the floor, dropping my weapon as I fell. There was no noise, no sound, while for an instant, with strength of sheer desperation, I held back the snapping jaws that breathed hot fire into my very face. With a bound backward of its great body the beast jerked free from my grip, and the next instant had sunk its dripping fangs, deep and hard, into the flesh of my shoulder. As the intense pain shot through me, my right hand, driven with all the force I could muster, caught the monster once, twice, full in the throat, but tighter and tighter those clinched jaws locked, until it seemed as if every bone between them must be ground to powder. Even as I grasped the lower jaw, seeking vainly to wrench it loose, I heard the girl scream in sudden afright.

“Quick!” I gasped desperately. “Get my revolver there on the floor, and use it—but for God's sake keep down; don't let the brute see you.”

She must have heard, but there was no response, although her crying ceased. Yet my own struggle to rid myself of that crushing weight and those iron jaws drowned all other sounds, drove all other thoughts from me. I doubt if what I now record occupied a minute; but God protect me from ever having to experience such another minute! I continued to struggle in desperate hopelessness with single hand, in vain endeavor to wrench loose that awful grip upon my shoulder. Every movement I made was an agony, an inexpressible torture, but the very intensity of pain kept me from faintness, as the maddened beast tore deeper and deeper into the quivering flesh. With knee bent double beneath me I succeeded in turning partially upon one side, lifting the entire weight of the animal as I did so; but no degree of force I could exert would loosen those set jaws. There was no growling, no savage snarling, no sound of any kind,—just that fierce, desperate, silent struggle for life in the darkness. Every muscle of my body began to weaken from the strain, my eyes blurred, faintness swept over me, I felt my brain reeling, when there burst a vivid flash of flame within a foot of my face, singeing my forehead; then followed a deafening report, and the huge brute sprang backward with a snarl of pain, his teeth clicking together like cogs of steel. Then he stiffened and fell prone across me, a dead, inert weight, pinning me breathless to the floor.

For the moment I could do no more than lie there helpless, gasping for breath, scarce conscious even of my deliverance. Then, as sufficient strength returned for action, I rolled the body of the dead brute off me, and lifting myself by aid of the wall against which my head rested, looked about. Two broken chairs overturned upon the floor, and the shapeless, huddled body of my late assailant, alone spoke of the violence of that deadly struggle; but the cabin was yet full of smoke, and I could perceive the figure of the girl leaning against the frame of the open door, the revolver still grasped in her hand. Her posture was that of a frightened deer, as her terror-filled eyes sought the dark interior.

“It is safely over,” I said weakly, for my breath yet came to me in gasps. “The brute is dead.”

“And you are not killed!” Shall I ever forget the glad ring in her voice?—“Oh, thank God! thank God!”

The sound of these eager words yielded me a fresh measure of life.

“Believe me, I certainly do,” I said as cheerfully as possible, “and I thank you also as His instrument; but if you would keep me from fainting away like a nerveless woman, I beg you come here.”

I could mark her coming across the narrow streak of moonlight, moving toward me as a frightened bird might, startled at everything, and passing as far from the lifeless mass on the floor as the small space would allow. As she bent anxiously over me her face was so in shadow that I could distinguish nothing of its features.

“What is it? Are you indeed severely hurt?”

“Not seriously, I think, yet I have lost some blood, and am in great pain. There is brandy in the inner pocket of my jacket, but I am unable to move my arm in order to reach it. Would you endeavor to draw the flask out?”

I felt her bend over me, her soft breath coming almost in sobs upon my face, as with trembling fingers she undid the buttons of my trooper's jacket and extracted the small flat flask I had been thoughtful enough to store away there.

The fiery liquid seemed to put new blood into my veins, and with it there returned all my old-time audacity, with that intense hopefulness in which I had been trained by years of war and self-reliance.

“Ah! now I feel I am myself once more,” I exclaimed cheerily. “Things are surely not so bad after all. At least we have a roof over our heads, and another day in which to live.”

I felt her shudder.

“Oh, please do not make light of it,” she whispered. “It is so like some horrid dream, and I am trembling yet.” I put my hand upon hers, and it was not withdrawn.

“I trust you realize,” I said, “that I am neither thoughtless nor ungrateful. Years of war service make one careless of life, but I know it was your shot that saved me. You are a brave girl.”

Her overtaxed nerves gave way at my words, and I knew she was crying softly. The sobbing was in her voice as she strove to speak.

“Oh, no, I am not; you do not guess how great a coward I am. I scarcely knew what I was doing when I fired. That horrid thing—what was it?”

“A huge mastiff, I imagine; one of the largest of his breed. But whatever it may have been, the beast is dead, and we have nothing more to fear from him.”

“Yet I tremble so,” she confessed, almost hysterically. “Every shadow frightens me.”

I realized that no amount of conversation would quiet her nerves so effectively as some positive action; besides, I felt the hot blood constantly trickling down my arm, and realized that something needed to be done at once to stanch its flow, before weakness should render me equally useless.

“Do you think you could build a fire on the hearth yonder?” I asked. “I am afraid I am hardly capable of helping you as yet; but we must have light in this gloomy old hole, or it is bound to craze us both. Take those broken chairs if you find nothing better.”

She instantly did as I bade her, moving here and there about the room until she gathered together the materials necessary, but keeping carefully away from where the dead dog lay, until in a brief space of time the welcome flame leaped up in the wide black chimney, and cast its red glare all over the little room. The activity did her good, the light flooding the gloomy apartment yielded renewed courage, and there was a cheerier sound in her voice as she came back to me.

“The great ugly brute!” she exclaimed, looking at the form in the centre of the floor.

“He was certainly heavy enough to have been a bear,” I replied, clinching my teeth in pain, “and sufficiently savage.”

I viewed her now for the first time clearly, and the memory will remain with me till I die. How distinctly that entire picture stands forth with the mist of all these years between! The low-ceiled room, devoid of all furniture save of the rudest and most primitive kind; the bare logs forming the walls, unrelieved in their rough ugliness, except as here and there sundry unshapely garments dangled from wooden pegs; the rough deal table, with a few cheap dishes piled upon one end of it; the dead dog lying across the earthen floor; and over all the leap of 'ruddy flame as the newly kindled fire gathered way, leaving weird shadows here and there, yet steadily forcing them back, and flooding the whole interior with a cheery glow.

She had flung aside the blue and yellow cloak which, during the long hours of our night ride had so completely shrouded her, and stood before me dressed in some soft clinging stuff of a delicate brown color, so cut and fashioned as to most become her rounded, graceful form. About her neck a narrow strip of creamy lace was fitted, the full throat rendered whiter by the contrast, while at her wrists a similar ornament alone served to relieve the simple plainness of her attire. The flaming fire lighted up her face, making it seem to flush with the dancing glow, which sparkled like diamonds in her eyes, and touched with ruddy light the dark, dishevelled hair. Hers was a young, fair face,—a face to love and trust forever, yet with a pride in it, and a certain firmness also that somehow was good to see. All this I noted with one quick upward glance, and with a sudden thrill of the heart such as I had never known before.

CHAPTER VII. — A DISCIPLE OF SIR WALTER

I have no doubt she wished me to see her thus. Every woman worth the winning is a bit of a coquette, and none can be utterly disdainful of the lesson their mirror tells. But even as I gazed upon her, my admiration deeper than my pain, the arch expression of her face changed; there came a sudden rush of pity, of anxiety into those clear, challenging eyes, and with one quick step she drew nearer and bent above me.

“Oh, Captain Wayne,” she cried, her warm, womanly heart conquering all prejudice, “you are badly hurt and bleeding. Why did you not tell me? Please let me aid you.”

“I fear I must,” I replied grimly. “I would gladly spare you, for indeed I do not believe my injury sufficiently serious to cause alarm, but I find I have only one arm I can use at present; the brute got his teeth into the other.”

The tender compassion within her eyes was most pleasant to see.

“Oh, believe me, I can do it.” She spoke bravely, a sturdy ring of confidence in the voice, although at the thought her face paled. “I have been in the hospitals at Baltimore, and taken care of wounded soldiers. If there was only some water here!”

She glanced about, dreading the possibility of having to go forth into the night alone in search of a spring or well.

“I think you will find a pail on the bench yonder,” I said, for from where I leaned against the wall I could see out into the shed. “It was doubtless left for the dog to drink from.”

She came back with it, tearing down a cloth from off a peg in the wall as she passed, and then, wearing a resolute air of authority, knelt beside me, and with rapid fingers flung back my jacket, unfastening the rough army shirt, and laid bare, so far as was possible, the lacerated shoulder.

It gave me intense pain, for the shirt had become matted to the wound by drying blood, so that in spite of her soft touch and my own clinched teeth a slight groan broke from my lips.

“Forgive me,” she said anxiously, “but I fear I can never dress it in this way. We must remove your jacket and cut away the sleeve of your shirt.”

It was an agonizing operation, for it has often seemed to me that the more superficial the wound the greater the pain experienced in dealing with it, and the perspiration stood in beads upon my forehead as she worked quickly and with skill. At last the disagreeable task was accomplished, the wounded shoulder completely bared. Her face was deathly white now, and she shielded her eyes with her hand.

“Oh, what a horrible wound!” she exclaimed, almost sobbing. “How that great brute must have hurt you!”

“The wound is not so serious as it appears,” I replied reassuringly, and glad myself to feel that I spoke the truth, “but I confess the pain is intense, and makes me feel somewhat faint. It was not so much the mere bite of the dog, but unfortunately he got his teeth into an old wound and tore it open.”

“An old wound?”

“Yes; I received a Minié ball there at Gettysburg, and although the bullet was extracted, the wound never properly healed.”

These words served to recall to her instantly the fact that I was not of her own people; there appeared to come again into her manner that marked restraint which had almost totally disappeared during the last few minutes. Not that she failed in any kindness or consideration, but a growing reserve put check upon what was fast becoming the intimacy of friendship. Yet she performed her disagreeable task with all the tenderness of a sympathetic woman, and as she worked swiftly and deftly, made no attempt to conceal the tears clinging to her long lashes. Skilfully the deep, jagged gash was bathed out, and then as carefully bound up with the softest cloths she could find at hand. The relief was great, and I felt, as I moved the shoulder, that saving the soreness it would probably not greatly bother me.

“Now you must lie back and rest,” she said command-ingly, as I attempted to thank her. “Here, put your head on this cloak. But first it will do you good to have more of the brandy, for you are as white as death.”

“Merely a slight faintness; and I will only consent to indulge provided you partake first, for I know you require the stimulant as much as I,” I retorted doggedly, gazing up into her face with an admiration she could scarcely fail to perceive.

She lifted the flask to her lips and did not answer, but when she handed it back to me there was a new flush upon her cheeks.

“And now as your nurse I command absolute quiet,” striving to speak gaily. “See, the daylight is already here, and I mean to discover if this lone cabin contains anything which human beings can eat; I confess that I am nearly famished.”

“A most excellent symptom, and I imagine your quest will not be wholly vain. To my eye that greatly resembles a slab of bacon hanging beside the chimney.”

“It indeed is,” she exclaimed, “and I feel as a shipwrecked seaman must on first beholding land.”

However my naturally energetic spirit revolted at inactivity, for the time being my faintness precluded any thought of doing other than obeying her orders, and I lay there silent, propped up against the logs, my eager eyes following her rapid, graceful movements with a constantly increasing interest. As she worked, the reflection of the red flames became mingled with the gray dawn, until the bare and cheerless interior grew more and more visible. Her search was far from unsuccessful, while her resourcefulness astonished me, old campaigner as I was; for it was scarcely more than full daylight before she had me at the table, and I was doing full justice to such coarse food as the larder furnished. A Confederate soldier in those days could not well afford to affect delicacy in matters of the cuisine, and indeed our long fast had left us both where any kind of food was most welcome.

The eating helped me greatly; but for some time so busy were we that neither of us spoke. On my own part I experienced a strange hesitancy in addressing her upon terms of equality. Ordinarily not easily embarrassed in feminine society, I felt in this instance a definite barrier between us, which prevented my feeling at ease. Now and then as we sat opposite each other, eating amid a silence most unpleasant, I would catch her eyes glancing across at me, but they were lowered instantly whenever I ventured to meet them. Finally I broke the stillness with a commonplace remark:

“I presume your people will be greatly worried by this time over your mysterious disappearance.”

A flush swept her throat and cheeks, but she did not lift her eyes from the plate. “Yes,” she answered slowly, “Frank is doubtless searching for me long before this.”

“Frank?” I asked, feeling glad of this opportunity to learn more of her relationships. “You forget, possibly, that your friends are strange to me. You refer to the gentleman who expected to meet you on the road?”

“To Major Brennan, yes.”

There was nothing about the tone of her reply that invited me to press the inquiry further. One thing, however, was reasonably certain,—the man she called “Frank” could not be her father. I longed to ask if he was a brother, but the restraint of her whole manner repelled the suggestion.

“Did I understand that you have nursed in the Federal hospitals at Baltimore?” I questioned, more to continue the conversation than from any deep interest.

“Merely as a volunteer, and when the regular nurses were especially busy. Major Brennan was stationed there for some time when I first visited him, and I felt it my duty as a loyal woman to aid the poor fellows.”

“It was surely far from being an agreeable task to one of your refinement.”

“Oh, it was not that that made it so hard,” and her eyes were upon me now unflinchingly. “It was the constant sight of so much misery one was unable to relieve. Besides, that was nearly a year ago; I was very young, just from school, and every form of suffering was new and terrible to me.”

“I greatly wonder you were permitted to go there at all.”

“The Major did object. He insisted it was no fit place for me, and that I ran the risk of contracting disease. But I generally have my own way, even with him, and in this case I felt it a duty to my country, and that I was right in my decision.”

I remained silent, striving vainly to frame some innocent question which should solve for me the problem of who and what she was. Suddenly she spoke softly:

“Captain Wayne, I feel I owe you an apology for my unwarranted and unladylike conduct last night. I am very sure now that you are a gentleman, and will appreciate how bitterly I was tried, how deeply I have ever since regretted it.”

It hurt her pride to say even this much, as I could tell by her downcast eyes and heaving bosom, and I hastened to relieve her embarrassment.

“You have nothing whatever to ask forgiveness for,” I said earnestly. “Rather such a request should come from me. I only trust, Miss Brennan, that you will excuse my part in this extremely unfortunate affair.”

She sat looking down upon her plate, her fingers nervously crumbling a bit of corn bread.

“You do not even know who I am,” she said slowly. “I am not Miss, but Mrs. Brennan.”

I felt as if a dash of cold water had been suddenly thrown in my face.

“Indeed?” I stammered, scarcely knowing what I said. “You appear so young a girl that I never once thought of you as being a married woman.”

“I was married very early; indeed, before I was seventeen. My husband—”

What she was about to add I could but conjecture, for a quick change in the expression of her face startled me.

“What is it?” I questioned, half rising to my feet, and glancing over my shoulder toward the wall where her eyes were riveted.

“Something resembling a hand pushed aside the coat hanging yonder,” she explained in low trembling tone, “and I thought I saw a face.”

With one stride I was across the narrow room, and tore the garment from its wooden hook. The log wall where it hung was blank. I struck it here and there with the steel hilt of my sabre, but it returned a perfectly solid sound, and I glanced about bewildered. The woman was watching me with affrighted eyes.

“This entire house is uncanny,” she exclaimed. “The very being in it makes my flesh creep. It may have been a den of murderers. Captain, let us get outside into the sunshine.”

Believing it to be merely her overwrought nerves which were at fault, I sought to soothe her. “It was probably no more than a shadow,” I said, crossing to her side of the table, to enable her better to feel the influence of my presence. “Let us be content to sit here by the door, for we should be taking too great a risk of discovery if we ventured into the open.”

I had barely spoken these words and placed my fingers on her hand to lead her forward when the small door which opened into the shed was thrown back noisily, and two great shaggy dogs, the evident mates of the dead brute at our feet, leaped fiercely in. She shrank toward me with a sob of terror; but even as I drew a revolver from my belt, a man and a woman appeared almost simultaneously in that same opening.

“Down, Douglas! down, Roderick! Ha! 'There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff!'—down, you brutes; you'll be dead yourselves sometime.”

The man strode forward as he spoke, clubbing the frenzied brutes with the stock of the long rifle he carried.

“'Yelled on the view the opening pack,'” he quoted, as he distributed his blows impartially to right and left; “'rock, glen, and cavern paid them back.' Them thar be Scott's words, stranger, an' I reckon as how ol' Sir Walter knew whut he wus writin' 'bout. Stop thet blame youlin', you Roderick, er I'll take t' other end o' this gun ter ye.”

He redoubled his efforts for peace, finally driving the rebellious beasts back into one corner, where they sat upon their haunches and eyed us wistfully.

“'Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed, unmatched for courage, breath, and speed,'” he exclaimed, wiping the perspiration from his face with the back of one hand and staring at us, “specially the breath.”

He was a fierce-looking little fellow, scarcely more than a half-grown boy in size, with round, red face full of strange wrinkles, and head as oddly peak-shaped as I ever looked upon. It went up exactly like the apex of a pear, while the upper portion was utterly bald. He formed a most remarkable contrast to the tall, raw-boned, angular female who loomed up like a small mountain just behind him.

“I reckon as how you uns hed quite a bit of a scrap afore ye laid thet thar dorg out, stranger,” he said, a half-angry tone lurking in his deep voice. “'The fleetest hound in all the North,' an' I'm durned if I jist likes ther way you uns makes yerselves et hum in this yere cabin.”

“Shet up, Jed Bungay,” cut in his better-half, sharply, and as she spoke she caught the little man unceremoniously by one arm, and thrusting him roughly to one side strode heavily forward until she paused in the centre of the room, facing us with her arms akimbo.

“Now I'd jist like ter know,” she said savagely, “who you uns be, a breakin' into a house, and a killin' a dorg, an' a eatin' up everything we uns got without so much as a sayin' 'by yer leave' er nuthin'. I reckon as how you uns don't take this yere cabin fer no tavern?”

The wrinkled red face peering cautiously around her ample waist line made me wish to laugh, but an earnest desire to placate the irate female, who was evidently the real head of this household, enabled me to conquer the inclination and answer gravely.

“Madam,” I said with a low bow, “it is misfortune, not desire, which has caused us to trespass upon your hospitality. We will very gladly pay you liberally for any damage done. I am an officer in the Confederate service, and the breaking down of our horses compelled us to take refuge here in order that this lady might not be exposed to danger from roving gangs of guerillas. The dog attacked us in the dark, and we killed him in order to save our lives.”

“'The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay resounded up the rocky way,” ejaculated Bungay with dancing eyes.

“Drat yer potry, Jed Bungay! ye dew make me tired fer suah.” She turned back to us, and from her first words it was plainly evident she had been impressed with but one sentence of my labored explanation.

“Did you uns say as how ye 'd pay fer whut ye et and fer thet truck ye busted?” she asked doubtfully.

“Certainly, madam,” and I took some money from my pocket as evidence of good faith. “What would you consider due you?”

The grim, set face relaxed slightly, while she permitted her husband to edge his way a little more into the foreground.

“Wal, stranger, I sorter reckon as how 'bout four bits 'ill squar' things—dorgs is mighty durn cheap hereabout enyhow.”

“'But Lufra,—whom from Douglas' side nor bribe nor threat could e'er divide,'” he protested. “Not that its name was Lufra, but he was a blame fine dorg.”

The woman turned on him like a flash, and he crept subdued back into his corner. The incipient rebellion had been ended by a glance.

“Durn ye, Jed Bungay, why, thet's more money thin ye've aimed in six months, an' ye've got more measly, flea-bit dorgs 'round yere now then ye kin ever feed. Give me ther four bits, mister, an' I reckon as how it'll be all right.”

The little man balanced himself on one foot, and cocked up his eye in an abortive attempt to wink.

“Yas, don't ye ever mind me, Mariar,” he said humbly. “'Whom ther Lord hath jined tergether let no man put asunder.' Thet thar ain't Scott, Cap, but I reckon it's out of another book mighty nigh es good. Hes you uns got all ther victuals ye want? 'He gave him of his Highland cheer, the hardened flesh of mountain deer.' This yere is slab bacon, but it smells purty durn good.”

I glanced at Mrs. Brennan, and the amused twinkle in her eyes led me to say heartily, “We had not entirely completed our meal, but imagined we saw ghosts.”

“Ghosts!” He glanced around apprehensively,—“'On Heaven and on thy lady call, and enter the enchanted hall!' Wus ther ghosts ye saw over thar?” And he pointed toward the wall opposite.

I nodded.

“Then I sorter reckon as how Mariar and me wus them ghosts,” he continued, grinning. “We sorter reckoned as how we wanted ter see who wus yere afore we come in. 'I'll listen till my fancy hears the clang of swords, the crash of spears.' These yere is tough times, stranger, in these parts, an' a man whut has ter pertect a lovely female hes got ter keep his eye skinned.”

Maria sniffed contemptuously.

“Ye're no great shakes at a pertectin' o' me, Jed Bungay. Now you sit down thar an' begin ter fill up. I reckon as how ther Cap an' his gal will kinder jine with us fer manners.”

She seated Jed with such extreme vigor that I looked for the chair to collapse beneath him as he came down, but the little man, not in the least daunted, picked up his knife and fork with a sigh of relief.

“'O woman! in our hours of ease uncertain, coy, and hard to please,'” he murmured. “Come, sit down, stranger; 'Sit down an' share a soldier's couch, a soldier's fare.' Not as I'm a sojer,” he hastened to explain, “but thet's how it is in ther book. Say, old woman, kint ye kinder sker up some coffee fer we uns—leastwise whut us Confeds call coffee?”

Without much difficulty I induced Mrs. Brennan to draw her chair once more to the table, and I sat down beside her.

“You are Confederate, then?” I asked, curious to know upon which side his sympathies were enlisted in the struggle.

He glanced warily at my gray jacket, then his shrewd, shifty eyes wandered to the blue and yellow cavalry cloak lying on the floor.

“Wal, I jist don't know, Cap,” he said cautiously, continuing to eat as he talked, “as I'm much o' enything in this yere row. First ther durned gray-backs they come snoopin' up yere, an' run off all my horgs; then ther blame blue-bellies come 'long an' cut down every lick o' my corn fodder, so thet I'll be cussed if I ain't 'bout ready ter fight either side. Anyhow I ain't did no fightin' yit worth talkin' 'bout, fer Mariar is pow'ful feared I'd git hurt.”

Maria regarded him scornfully.

“Hiding out, I suppose?”

“Wal, 'tain't very healthful fer us ter be stayin' et hum much o' ther time, long with that thar Red Lowrie, an' Jim Hale, an' the rest o' thet cattle 'round yere.”

“Guerillas pretty thick now in the mountains?”

He glanced up quickly, his shrewd gray eyes on my face, and Maria turned about as she stood beside the fireplace.

“Wal, I dunno; I heerd as they wus doin' somethin' down by ther brick church, but thar 's no great shakes of 'em jist 'round yere. I reckon as how they knows 'nough ter keep 'way from Jed Bungay—I'd pitch 'em 'far as ever peasant pitched a bar.'”

“You have no fear of them, then?”

“Whut, me?” The little man sat bolt upright, and glared fiercely across the table as though he would resent an insult.

“Stranger, I have fit them ar fellers night an' day in these yere mountings fer nigh onter three year—me an' Mariar.

“'For love-lorn swain in lady's bower
Ne'er panted for the appointed hour
As I, until before me stand
This rebel chieftain and his band.'

“I jist tell ye, Cap, I reckon thar ain't no guerilla a goin' ter poke his nose 'round yere 'less he 's a lookin' fer sudden death; thar's mighty few o' 'em ain't heerd o' Jed Bungay—Whut in thunder 's ther matter with yer gal?”

He stopped suddenly, and stared at her; but before I could turn about in my chair one of the great dogs began to growl savagely, and Maria sprang forward and cuffed the surly brutes into rebellious silence.

“It's hosses,” she said harshly. “Likely as not it's Red's gang. Now, Jed Bungay, yere's two lovely females fer ye ter pertect.”

As I hastily sprang to my feet I caught a fleeting glimpse out of the partially opened door. Down the steep of the hill road there was slowly moving toward us on foot a small party of perhaps a dozen men, so variously clothed as to make it evident they were irregulars. Just ahead of them, but on horseback, two others were even then turning into the narrow path that led to the house, attracted probably by the smoke which streamed from the chimney-top.

CHAPTER VIII. — MRS. BUNGAY DEFENDS HER HEARTHSTONE

A hand pressing hard upon my arm brought back my scattered senses with a rush. It was Mrs. Brennan who stood there, her face whitened by anxiety, her eyes peering anxiously through the opening of the door. Imminent danger may startle even a trained soldier, but any necessity for action always recalls him to duty, and that one glance at her sufficed to make me myself again.

“Surely those men are not soldiers, Captain Wayne!” she exclaimed. “They wear uniforms of both armies.”

“No doubt they are guerillas,” I answered, drawing her back from where she might be seen in their approach. “We must find hiding if possible, for you shall never fall into such hands. Bungay!”

I turned toward where the little giant had been sitting, but he was not to be seen. However, the sound of my voice aroused Maria to a full sense of our danger, nor was she a woman to hesitate in such emergency. With a single stride she crossed the narrow room, caught the white-faced hero by the collar of his shirt, dragged him ignominiously forth from beneath the table where he had sought refuge, shook him as she would shake a toy dog, until his teeth rattled, and then flung him out of the door leading into the back shed. It was done so expeditiously that I could only gasp.

“Now inter ther hole with ye, Jed Bungay—you an' yer dorgs,” she panted furiously. “An' you uns foller him. I reckon I 'm able ter handle thet lot out thar, even if it should be Red Lowrie an' his gang.”

Catching firm hold of Mrs. Brennan's hand I sprang down the single step and closed the door tight behind us. Jed had scrambled to his feet, and rubbing himself vigorously with one hand, utilized the other to drag outward a rough cupboard, which appeared to be a portion of the house itself. As it swung open there was revealed behind it a fair-sized opening extending into the face of the hill. It was a most ingenious arrangement, doubtless finding frequent use in those troublesome times. Its presence partially explained how Jed had thus far escaped the conscription officer. Into this hole we entered one at a time, and when the heavy cupboard had been silently drawn back into place, found ourselves enveloped in such total darkness as to make any movement a dangerous operation. I felt the clasp of my companion's hand tighten, and knew that her whole form was trembling from intense excitement.

“Do not permit the darkness to alarm you,” I whispered softly, bending down as I spoke until I could feel her quick breathing against my cheek. “Our visitors are not likely to remain longer than will be necessary to get something to eat. They need never suspect our presence, and all we have to do is to wait patiently until they move on. I only wish I could discover something upon which you might sit down.”

“Pray do not think me a coward,” she answered, “but I have heard of this man Lowrie in the Federal camps, and I would rather die than fall into his hands.”

I had heard of him also, and of his outrageous treatment of women. The memory caused me to clasp my hand warmly over hers, and set my teeth hard.

“It may not prove to be Lowrie at all,” I said soberly; “but all these gentry are pretty much alike, I fear. However, I promise that you shall never fall alive into the hands of any of their breed.”

Before she could answer me other than by a slight nestling closer in the darkness, Bungay whispered: “This yere hole, Cap, leads down ter the right, an' comes out in a sort o' gully 'bout a hundred feet back. Thar's light 'nough ter see ter walk by a'ter ye turn ther corner 'bout twenty feet er so. You uns kin go on down thar if ye 'd rather, follerin' ther dorgs, but I reckon as how I'll stay right yere an' sorter see how ther ol' woman comes out.

“'Where, where was Roderick then?
One blast upon his bugle horn
Were worth a thousand men.'

“If you uns like ter see a durned good fight maybe ye better stay tew—ther ol' woman is pisen if she once gits her dander up.”

His voice was expressive of great expectations, and I had reason to believe his faith in Maria would be justified. Before any of us, however, had time to change our positions we heard the fellows come stamping roughly into the cabin. The thin slabs which divided us scarcely muffled their loud voices.

“Well, old woman,” exclaimed one in voice so gruff as to seem almost assumed, “pretending to be alone, are you, with all those dishes sitting out on the table; just been eaten off, too. Haven't seen no strange party along the road this morning, have ye?”

“Nary a one,” said Maria, and I knew from her voice she was standing close beside the fireplace.

“Are you Mrs. Bungay?”

“I reckon I am, if it's any o' yer business.”

“Don't git hifty, old woman, or we 're liable to give you a lesson in politeness before we leave.” The leader dropped the butt of his gun with a crash on the floor. “Where is the little sneak, anyhow?”

“What do you want of him?”

“Want him to go 'long with us; we 're hunting some parties, and need a guide. They tol' us up the road a bit he knew every inch o' these yere mountings.”

There was a pause, as if Maria was endeavoring to decide as to the honesty of the speaker. Her final answer proved the mental survey had not proven satisfactory.

“Wal, I reckon,” she said calmly, “as you uns 'll be more likely ter find him down 'bout Connersville.”

“Then whut's all these yere dirty dishes doing on the table?”

“Hed sum Yankee officers yere; they just rode on down ther trail as you uns cum up.”

“Like hell!” ejaculated the fellow with complete loss of temper. “See here, old woman, we 're too old birds to be caught with any such chaff. We'll take a look around the old shebang anyhow, and while we're at it you put something on the table for me and my mates to eat.”

The voice and manner were rough, but I was impressed with a certain accent creeping into the man's speech bespeaking education. More, in spite of an apparent effort to make it so, his dialect was not that of those mountains.

Even as he uttered these last words, throwing into them a threat more in the tone than the language, I became aware of a thin ray of light penetrating the seemingly solid wall just in front of me, and bending silently forward could dimly distinguish the elliptical head of Bungay as he applied one eye to a small opening he had industriously made between the logs. Grasping Mrs. Brennan firmly by the hand so that we should not become separated, I crept across the intervening blackness, and reached his side.

“Holy smoke, Cap,” the little man muttered in suppressed excitement, as he realized my presence, “it's a goin' ter be b'ilin' hot in thar mighty soon. Mariar's steam is a risin'.”

He silently made room for me, and bending down so as to bring my eye upon a level with his, I managed to gain some slight glimpse of the scene within the cabin.

Mrs. Bungay stood with her back to the fireplace, an iron skillet firmly gripped in one hand. Her face was red with indignation, and there was a look in her eyes, together with a defiant set to her chin, which promised trouble. In front of her, carelessly resting on the table, his feet dangling in the air, was a sturdy-looking fellow of forty or so, with red, straggling beard covering all the lower half of his face, and a weather-worn black hat pulled so low as almost to conceal his eyes. His attire was nondescript, as though he had patronized the junk-shop of both armies. In his belt were thrust a revolver and a knife, while within easy reach of his hand a musket leaned against a chair. Two others of the party, younger men, but even more roughly dressed than their leader, were lounging between him and the door.

Bungay chuckled expectantly.

“O Lord! if they only git the ol' gal just a little more riled,” he whispered hoarsely, jumping up and down on one foot in his excitement, “they'll hev ther fight of their life.”

“Do you know the fellows?” I asked. “Is that Red Lowrie?”

He shook his head.

“Never laid eyes on any of 'em afore, but ye bet they're no good. Reckon they're a part o' his crowd.”

The man who posed as the leader of the party picked up the empty coffee-pot beside him and shook it.

“Come, now, Mrs. Bungay,” he commanded, “I tell you we 're hungry, so trot out some hoecake and fill up this pot, unless you want to reckon with Red Lowrie.”

The woman stood facing him, yet never moved. I could see a red spot begin to glow in either cheek. If I had ever doubted it, I knew now that Maria possessed a temper of her own.

“You ain't no Red Lowrie,” she retorted.

The fellow laughed easily.

“No more I ain't, old woman, but I reckon we ain't so durn far apart when it comes to getting what we go after. Come, honest now, where is the little white-livered cur that runs this shebang?”

Whatever Maria might venture to call her lord and master in the privacy of home, it evidently did not soothe her spirit to hear him thus spoken of by another.

“If Jed Bungay wus hum,” she answered fiercely, her eyes fairly blazing, “I reckon you wouldn't be sprawlin' on thet thar table fer long.”

“Wouldn't I, now? Well, old hen, we've fooled here with you about as long as I care to. Bill, go over there and put some of that bacon on to fry. If she doesn't get out of the way I'll give her something to jump for.” And he patted the stock of his gun.

Instinctively I drew my revolver, and pushed its black muzzle into the light under Jed's nose.

“Shall I give him a dose?” I asked eagerly.

“Not yit; O Lord, not yit!” he exclaimed, dancing from one foot to the other in excitement. “Let ther ol' gal hev a show. I reckon she's good fer ther whole three of 'em, 'less they shoot.”

Bill came up grinning. He evidently anticipated some fun, and as he reached out a grimy hand for the slab of bacon, took occasion to make some remark. What it was I could not hear, but I noted the quick responsive flash in the woman's eyes, and the next instant with a crash she brought the iron skillet down with all her strength on top of the fellow's head. Without even a groan he went plunging down, face foremost, in front of the fire. In another moment she was battling like a wild fury with the other two.

It was a quick, intense struggle. The man near the door chanced to be the first in, and he received a blow from the skillet that most assuredly would have crushed his skull had he not dodged; as it was it landed upon his shoulder and he reeled back sick and helpless. By this time the fellow with the red beard had closed upon her, and wrested the skillet from her hand. Struggling fiercely back and forth across the floor, Maria tripped over the body of the dead dog and fell, but as she did so her fingers grasped the red beard of her antagonist. It yielded to her hand, and bare of face, save for a dark moustache, the man stood there, panting for breath, above her. Then suddenly, almost at my very ear, a voice cried, “Frank! Frank! I am here!”

CHAPTER IX. — IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY

In the first surprise of that unexpected joyful cry ringing at my very ears all my senses seemed confused, and I stood motionless. Then I heard Bungay utter a smothered oath, and knew he had wheeled about in the darkness. Unable to distinguish the slightest outline of his figure, I was yet impressed with the thought that he was endeavoring to muffle the girl, to prevent her uttering a second cry. Impelled by this intuition I flung out my arm hastily, and by rare good luck it came in contact with his hand.

“None of that, you little cur!” I muttered sternly, unmindful of his efforts to break away. “No hand on her, mind you! Mrs. Brennan, what does this mean?”

She made no attempt to answer, but I could hear her now groping her way through the darkness toward the place of our entrance. Bungay detected the movement also, and made a violent effort to break loose from my grip, that he might hurry after her.

“You lit go o' me,” he cried excitedly, “er, by goir, I'll use a knife. She'll give this whole thing away if she ever gits out.”

For answer I hurled him backward with all my strength and sprang after the fleeing woman. But I was already too late to stop her, even had that been my intention. With strength yielded her by desperation, she thrust aside the heavy cupboard, and as the light swept in, sprang forward into the rude shed. With another bound, gathering her skirts as she ran, she was up the steps and had burst into the outer room. A moment later I also stood in the doorway, gazing upon a scene that made my blood like fire.

The fighting had evidently ceased suddenly with her first cry. Maria stood panting in one corner, the deadly skillet again in her hand, her hair hanging in wisps down her back. Still unconscious from the blow he had received, one fellow lay outstretched on the floor, his head barely missing the hot ashes of the fireplace; while his companion nursed his bruises and scowled from a safe refuge behind the table. The unshaven faces of several others of the gang were peering curiously in through the open door. I know now I saw all this, for the picture of it is upon the retina of memory, but at the moment everything I appeared to perceive or hear occurred in the centre of the room.

The man who had posed as the leader stood there alone facing us, his expression a strange mixture of amazement and delight. He was a powerfully built man, with keen gray eyes deeply set in their sockets. His right hand rested heavily upon the hilt of a cavalry sabre, the scabbard of which was concealed beneath the folds of the long brown coat he wore. As Mrs. Brennan burst through the doorway he stepped eagerly forward, his eyes brightening, and they met with clasped hands.

“Is it possible—Edith?” he cried, as if the recognition could scarcely be credited.

“Oh, Frank!” she exclaimed, eagerly, “it seems all too good to be true. How came you here?”

“Hunting after you, my fair lady. Did you suppose you could disappear as mysteriously as you did last night without my being early on the trail? Have these people injured you in any way?” And he glanced about him with a threat in his gesture.

“Oh, no, Frank,” hastily; “every one has been most kind. It was a mere mistake. But how strangely you are dressed! how very rough you look!”

He laughed, but still retained his warm clasp of her hands.

“Not the pomp and circumstance of glorious war which you expected, girl?” he asked lightly. “But we have all sorts of conditions to meet down here, and soon learn in Rome to do as the Romans do.”

As he finished speaking he perceived me for the first time, and his face changed instantly into cold sternness. I saw him sweep one hasty glance around, as though he suspected that I might not be alone, and his hand fell once more upon his sword hilt, in posture suggestive of readiness for action.

“Who have we here?” he asked, staring at me in amazement. “A Johnny Reb?”

“Whatever I am,” I retorted, my gorge rising suddenly at his contemptuous term, and stepping out into the room before him, “I at least wear the uniform of my service and rank, and not the nondescript garments of a guerilla.”

The scornful words stung him; I noticed the quick flush of anger in his eyes, and was not sorry.

“You are insolent, sir. Moreover, you go too far, for as it chances you are well within our lines, and we will see to what extent honor is consistent with the work of a spy. The uniform of your service, indeed!” he echoed hotly, pointing as he spoke across the room; “that cavalry cloak over yonder tells its own story. Peters, Steele, arrest this fellow.”

“Frank, don't do that,” she urged earnestly. “You mistake; that was the cloak I wore.”

If he heard her he gave no sign.

“Bind him,” was the stern order, as the two men advanced. “Use your belts if you have nothing else handy.”

Angry as I most assuredly was, swept also by a new emotion which I did not in the least comprehend, I yet fully realized the utter helplessness of my position in point of resistance. They were twenty to one. However much I longed to grapple with him who mocked me, the very thought was insanity; my only possible chance of escape lay in flight. To realize this was to act. I leaped backward, trusting for a clear field in my rear, and an opportunity to run for it, but the door by which I had just entered was now closed and barred—Bungay had made sure his retreat. The man, watching my every movement, with sword half drawn in his hand, saw instantly that I was securely trapped, and laughed in scorn.

“You are not making war on women now,” he said with a cutting sneer. “You will not find me so easy a victim.”

The taunt stung me, but more the tone and manner of the speaker, and the hot blood of youth cast all caution to the winds. With a single spring, forgetful of my own wound, I was at his throat, dashed aside his uplifted hand, and by the sheer audacity of my sudden, unexpected onset, bore him back crashing to the floor. He struggled gamely, yet I possessed the advantage of position, and would have punished him severely, but for the dozen strong hands which instantly laid hold upon me, and dragged me off, still fighting madly, although as helpless as a child.

My opponent instantly leaped to his feet and started forward, drawing a revolver as he came. His face was deathly white from passion, and there was a look in his eyes which told me he would be restrained now by no rule of war.

“You cowardly spy!” he cried, and my ears caught the sharp click as he drew back the hammer. “Do you think I will let that blow go unavenged?”

“I assuredly trust not,” I answered, gazing up at him from behind the gun muzzles with which I was yet securely pinned to the floor. “But if you are, as I am led to believe, a Federal officer, with some pretensions to being also a gentleman, and not the outlaw your clothes proclaim, you will at least permit me to stand upon my feet and face you as a man. If I am a spy, as you seem inclined to claim, there are army courts to try me; if not, then I am your equal in standing and rank, and have every right of a prisoner of war.”

“This has become personal,” hoarsely. “Your blow, as well as your connection with the forcible abduction of this young lady, whose legal protector I am, are not matters to be settled by an army court.”

“Then permit me to meet you in any satisfactory way. The murder of a helpless man will scarcely clarify your honor.”

I knew from the unrelenting expression upon his face that my plea was likely to prove a perfectly useless one, but before I had ended it Mrs. Brennan stood between us.

“Frank,” she said calmly, “you shall not. This man is a Confederate officer; he is no spy; and during all the events of last night he has proven himself a friend rather than an enemy. Only for my sake is he here now.”

Ignoring the look upon his face she turned toward me, impetuously waved aside the fellows who yet held me prostrate, and extending her hand lifted me to my feet. For an instant, as if by accident, our eyes met, and a sudden flush swept across her throat and cheeks.

“It is my turn now,” she whispered softly, so softly the words did not carry beyond my own ears. Then she stood erect between us, as though in her own drawing-room, and gravely presented us to each other, as if she dared either to quarrel longer in her presence.

“Major Brennan, Captain Wayne.”

We bowed to each other as men salute on the duelling field. In his eyes I read an unforgiveness, a bitter personal enmity, which I returned with interest, and secretly rejoiced over.

“The lady seems to be in control at present,” he said shortly, shoving back the revolver into his belt. “Nevertheless I shall do my military duty, and hold you as a prisoner. May I inquire your full name and rank?”

“Philip Wayne, Captain ——th Virginia Cavalry, Shirtley's Brigade.”

“Why are you within our lines?”

“I attempted to pass through them last night with despatches, but was prevented by my desire to be of assistance to this lady.”

“Indeed?” He smiled incredulously. “Your tale is quite interesting and rather romantic. I presume you yet carry the papers with you as evidence of its truth?”

“If you refer to the despatches, I do not. I sincerely trust they are already safely deposited in the hands of the one for whom they were intended.”

A malignant look crept into Brennan's face, and his jaws set ominously.

“You will have to concoct a far better story than that, my friend, before you face Sheridan,” he said insolently, “or you will be very apt to learn how a rope feels. He is not inclined to parley long with such fellows as you. Bind his hands, men, and take him out with you into the road.”

The two soldiers grasped me instantly at the word of command. For a single moment I braced myself to resist, but even as I did so my eyes fell upon a slight opening in the wall, and I caught a quick glimpse of Bungay's face, his finger to his lips. Even as I gazed in astonishment at this sudden apparition, a lighter touch rested pleadingly on my arm.

“Do not struggle any longer, Captain Wayne,” spoke Mrs. Brennan's voice, gently. “I will go to General Sheridan myself, and tell him the entire story.”

I bowed to her, and held out my hands to be bound.

“I yield myself your prisoner, madam,” I said meaningly, and not unconscious that her glance sank before mine. “I even imagine the bonds may prove not altogether unpleasant.”

Brennan strode between us hastily, and with quick gesture to his men.

“Bind the fellow,” he said sternly. “And mind you, sir, one word more, and they shall buck you as well. It may be valuable for you to remember that I am in command here, however I may seem to yield to the wish of Mrs. Brennan.”

CHAPTER X. — A WOMAN'S TENDERNESS

Youth is never largely given to reflection, which is the gift of years; and although my life had in a measure rendered me more thoughtful than I might have proven under ordinary conditions, yet it is to be frankly confessed, by one desirous of writing merely the truth, that I generally acted more upon impulse than reason. As I stood forth in the sunlight of that lonely mountain road, my hands securely bound behind my back, the end of the rope held by one of my captors, while his fellow leaned lazily upon his gun and watched us, I thought somewhat deeply over the situation and those peculiar circumstances leading up to it.

Under other conditions I might have felt tempted to enter into conversation with my guards, who, as I now perceived, were far from being the rough banditti I had at first imagined. Judging from their faces and language they were intelligent enough young fellows, such as I had often found in the ranks of the Federal army. But I realized they could aid me little, if any, in the one thing I most desired to know, and even if they could, a sense of delicacy would have caused me to hesitate in asking those personal questions that burned upon my lips. My deep and abiding respect for this woman whom I had so strangely met, and with whom I had attained some degree of intimacy, would never permit of my discussing her, even indirectly, with private soldiers behind the back of their officer. Every sense of honor revolted at such a thought. Not through any curiosity of mine, however justified by the depth of my own feeling, should she be made the subject of idle gossip about the camp-fire.

For, in truth, at this time, unhappy as my own situation undeniably was,—and as a soldier I realized all its dangers,—I gave it but little consideration. Usually quick of wit, fertile in expedients, ever ready to take advantage of each opportunity, I had taken stock of all my surroundings, yet discovered nowhere the slightest opening for escape. The vigilance of the guard, as well as the thorough manner in which I was bound, rendered any such attempt the merest madness. Realizing this, with the fatalism of a veteran I resigned myself in all patience to what must be.

Then it was that other thoughts came surging upon me in a series of interrogatories, which no knowledge I possessed could possibly answer. Who was this proud, womanly woman who called herself Edith Brennan? She had been at some pains to inform me that she was married, yet there was that about her—her bearing, her manner—which I could not in the least reconcile with that thought. Her extreme youthfulness made me feel it improbable, and the impression remained with me that she intended to make some explanation of her words, when the coming of Bungay interrupted us. How they might be explained I could not imagine; I merely struggled against accepting what I longed to believe untrue. And this man? this Federal major, bearing the same name, whom she called Frank, who was he? What manner of relationship existed between them? In their meeting and short intercourse I had noted several things which told me much—that she feared, respected, valued him, and that he was not only swayed by, but intensely jealous of any rival in, her good opinion. Yet their unexpected meeting was scarcely that of husband and wife. Was he the one she sought in her night ride from one Federal camp to another? If so, was he brother, friend, or husband? What was the bond of union existing between these two? Every word spoken made me fear the last must be the true solution.

Such were some of the queries I silently struggled with, and they were rendered more acute by that deepening interest which I now confessed to myself I was feeling toward her who inspired them. It may be fashionable nowadays to sneer at love, yet certain it is, the rare personality of this Edith Brennan had reached and influenced me in those few hours we had been thrown together as that of no other woman had ever done. Possibly this was so because the long years in camp and field had kept me isolated from all cultured and refined womanhood. This may, indeed, have caused me to be peculiarly susceptible to the beauty and purity of this one. I know not; I am content to give facts, and leave philosophy to others. My life has ever been one of action, of intense feeling; and there in the road that day, standing bareheaded in the sun, I was clearly conscious of but one changeless fact, that I loved Edith Brennan with every throb of my heart, and that there was enmity, bitter and unforgiving, between me and the man within who bore her name. Whatever he might be to her I rejoiced to know that he hated me with all the unreasoning hatred of jealousy. I had read it in his eyes, in his words, in his manner; and the memory of its open manifestation caused me to smile, as I hoped for an hour when we should meet alone and face to face. How she regarded him I was unable as yet to tell, but his love for her was plainly apparent in every glance and word.

As I was thus thinking, half in despair and half in hope, the two came out from the house together; and it pleased me to note how immediately her eyes sought for me, and how she lifted her hand to shade them from the glare of the sun, so that she might see more clearly. Her companion appeared to ignore my presence utterly, and gazed anxiously up and down the road as though searching for something.

“Peters,” he asked sharply of the fellow on guard, “where are Sergeant Steele and the rest of the squad?”

The soldier addressed saluted in a manner that convinced me he was of the regular service.

“They are resting out of the sun in that clump of bushes down the hill, sir.”

Brennan glanced in the direction indicated.

“Very well,” he said. “Take your prisoner down there, and tell the Sergeant to press on at once toward the lower road. We shall follow you, and the lady will ride his horse.”

The man turned, and with peremptory gesture ordered me forward. As I drew closer to where the two waited beside the open door, I lifted my head proudly, determined that neither should perceive how deeply I felt the humiliation of my position. As I thus passed them, my eyes fixed upon the shining road ahead, my ears caught a word or two of indignant expostulation from her lips.

“But, Frank, it is positively shameful in this sun.”

He laughed lightly, yet his answer came to me in all clearness of utterance. I believed he wished me to overhear the words. “Oh, it will only prove of benefit to his brains, if by rare chance he possesses any.”

I glanced aside, and saw her turn instantly and face him, her eyes aflame with indignation. “Then I will!”

As she spoke, her voice fairly trembling with intense feeling, she stepped backward out of sight into the house.

Another instant and she reappeared, sweeping past him without so much as a word, and bearing in her hand my old campaign hat, came directly up to us.

“Sentry,” she said in her old imperious manner, “I desire to place this hat on the head of your prisoner.”

The fellow glanced uneasily over his shoulder at the seemingly unconscious officer, not knowing whether it were better to permit the act or not, but she waited for no permission.

“Captain Wayne,” she said, her voice grown kindly in a moment, and her eyes frankly meeting mine, “you will pardon such liberty, I am sure, but it is not right that you should be compelled to march uncovered in this sun.”

She placed the hat in position, asking as she did so:

“Does that feel comfortable?”

“The memory of your thoughtfulness,” I replied warmly, bowing as best I might, “will make the march pleasant, no matter what its end may mean to me.”

Her eyes darkened with sudden emotion.

“Do not deem me wholly ungrateful,” she said quickly and in a low tone. “The conditions are such that I am utterly helpless now to aid you. Major Brennan is a man not to be lightly disobeyed, but I shall tell my story to General Sheridan so soon as we reach his camp.”

I would have spoken again, but at this moment Brennan came striding toward us.

“Come, Edith,” he cried, almost roughly, “this foolishness has surely gone far enough. Peters, what are you waiting here for? I told you to take your prisoner down the road.”

A few moments later, the centre of a little squad of heavily armed men, I was tramping along the rocky pathway, and when once I attempted to glance back to discover if the others followed us, the sergeant advised me, with an oath, to keep my eyes to the front. I obeyed him.

It was a most tiresome march in the hot sun over the rough mountain roads. There were times when we left these altogether, and crept along half-obliterated trails leading through the dense woods and among the rocks. I learned from scraps of conversation floating about me as we struggled onward, that these precautions were not taken out of any fear of meeting with Confederate troops, whose nearest commands were supposed to be considerably to the westward of where we were, but because of a desire to avoid all possibility of conflict with those armed and irresponsible bands that ranged at will between the lines of the two great armies. Already they had become sufficiently strong to make trouble for small detachments.

It must have been nearly the end of the afternoon. We had certainly traversed several miles, and were then moving almost directly south upon a well-defined pike, the name of which I never knew. All the party were travelling close together, when the scout, who throughout the day had been kept a few hundred yards in advance, came back toward us on a run, his hand flung up in an urgent warning to halt.

“What is it, Steele?” Brennan questioned, spurring forward to meet him. “Come, speak up, man!”

“A squad of cavalry has just swung onto the pike, sir, from the dirt road that leads toward the White Briar,” was the soldier's panting reply. “And I could get a glimpse through the trees down the valley, and there's a heavy infantry column just behind them. They're Rebs, sir, or I don't know them.”

“Rebs?” with an incredulous laugh. “Why, man, we've got the only Reb here who is east of the Briar.”

“Well,” returned the scout, sullenly, “they're coming from the west, and I know they ain't our fellows.”

He was too old a soldier to have his judgment doubted, and he was evidently convinced. Brennan glanced quickly about. However he may have sneered at the report, he was not rash enough to chance so grave a mistake.

“Get back into those rocks there on the right,” he commanded sharply. “Hustle your prisoner along lively, men, and one of you stand over him with a cocked gun; if he so much as opens his mouth, let him have it.”

Rapidly as we moved, we were scarcely all under cover before the advance cavalry guard came in sight, the light fringe of troopers, dust-begrimed and weary, resting heavily in their saddles, and apparently thoughtless as to any possibility of meeting with the enemy. There were not more than a troop of them all told, yet their short gray jackets and wide-brimmed light hats instantly told the story of their service. Their rear rank was yet in sight when we heard the heavy tread of the approaching column, together with the dull tinkle of steel which always accompanies marching troops. Peering forth as much as I dared from behind the thick brush where I had been roughly thrown face downward, I saw the head of that solid, sturdy column swing around the sharp bend in the road, and in double front, spreading from rock to rock, come sweeping down toward us.

The command was moving forward rapidly at the rout step, that long, easy, swinging stride so peculiar to the Southern infantry, with the merest semblance of order in formation, which is the inevitable result of hard, rapid marching. Every movement bespoke them veteran troops. They were covered with dust, their faces fairly caked with it, their uniforms almost indistinguishable; their drums silent, their colors cased, their wide-brimmed hats pulled low over their eyes, their guns held in any position most convenient for carrying, and with stern, wearied faces set doggedly upon the road in their front. No pomp and circumstance of glorious war was here, but these were fighting men. Never before, save as I watched Pickett's charging line sweep on to death at Gettysburg, did I feel the stern manliness of war as now.

File upon file, company after company, regiment following regiment, they swung sternly by. Scarcely so much as a word reached us, excepting now and then some briefly muttered command to close up, or a half-inaudible curse as a shuffling foot stumbled. I could distinguish no badge, no insignia of either corps or division; the circling dust enveloped them in a choking, disfiguring cloud. But they were Confederates! I marked them well; here and there along the toiling ranks I even noted a familiar face, and there could be no mistaking the gaunt North Carolina mountaineer, the sallow Georgian, or the jaunty Louisiana Creole. They were Confederates—Packer's Division of Hill's corps, I could have almost sworn—east-bound on forced march, and I doubted not that each cross-road to left and right of us would likewise show its hurrying gray column, sturdily pressing forward. The veteran fighting men of the left wing of the Army of Northern Virginia were boldly pushing eastward to keep their tryst with Lee. The despatch intrusted to my care had been borne safely to Longstreet.

The keen joy of it lighted up my face, and Brennan turning toward me as the last limping straggler disappeared over the ridge, saw it, and grew white with anger.

“You Rebel cur!” he cried fiercely, in his sudden outburst of passion, “what does all this mean? Where is that division bound?”

“Some change in Longstreet's front, I should judge,” I answered coolly, too happy even to note his slur.

“You know better,” he retorted hotly. “The way those fellows march tells plainly enough that they have covered all of fifteen miles since daybreak. It is a general movement, and, by Heaven! you shall answer Sheridan, even if you won't me.”

CHAPTER XI. — IN THE PRESENCE OF SHERIDAN

It had been dark for nearly an hour before we entered what was from all appearances a large and populous camp. Hurried forward constantly, closely surrounded by my guard, I was enabled to gain but an inadequate conception of either its situation or extent. Yet the distance traversed by our party after passing the outer sentries and before we made final halt, taken in connection with evidence on every side of the presence in considerable numbers of all the varied branches of the service, convinced me we were within no mere brigade encampment, but had doubtless arrived at the main headquarters of this department.

Although I noted all this in a vague way, so as to recall it afterwards, yet I was too thoroughly fatigued to care where I was or what became of me. Hardened as I had grown through experience to exposure and weariness, the continuous strain undergone since I had ridden westward from General Lee's tent had completely unnerved me. No sooner was I thrust into the unknown darkness of a hut by the not unkindly sergeant, than I threw myself prone on the floor, and was sound asleep before the door had fairly closed behind him.

My rest was not destined to be a long one. It seemed I had barely closed my eyes when a rough hand shook me again into consciousness. The flaming glare of an uplifted pine-knot flung its radiance over half-a-dozen figures grouped in the open doorway. A corporal, with a white chin beard, was bending over me.

“Come, Johnny,” he said tersely, “get up—you're wanted.”

The instinct of soldierly obedience in which I had been so long trained caused me to grope my way to my feet.

“What time is it, Corporal?” I asked sleepily.

“After midnight.”

“Who wishes me?”

“Headquarters,” he returned brusquely. “Come, move on. Fall in, men.”

A moment later we were off, passing between long lines of dying fires, tramping rapidly along a rough road which seemed to incline sharply upward, our single torch throwing grotesque shadows on either side. The swift movement and the crisp night air swept the vestiges of slumber from my brain, and I began instinctively to gather together my scattered wits for whatever new experience confronted me.

Our march was a short one, and we soon turned abruptly in at a wide-open gateway. High pillars of brick stood upon either hand, and the passage was well lighted by a brightly blazing fire of logs. Two sentries stood there, and our party passed between them without uttering a word. As we moved beyond the radiance I noted a little knot of cavalrymen silently sitting their horses in the shadow of the high wall. A wide gravelled walk, bordered, I thought, with flowers, led toward the front door of a commodious house built after the colonial type. The lower story seemed fairly ablaze with lights, and at the head of the steps as we ascended a young officer came quickly forward.

“Is this the prisoner brought in to-night?”

The corporal pushed me forward.

“This is the man, sir.”

“Very well; hold your command here until I send other orders.”

He rested one hand, not unkindly, upon my arm, and his tone instantly changed from that of command to generous courtesy.

“You will accompany me, and permit me to advise you, for your own sake, to be as civil as possible in your answers to-night, for the 'old man' is in one of his tantrums.”

We crossed the rather dimly lighted hall, which had a sentry posted at either end of it, and then my conductor threw open a side door, and silently motioned for me to enter in advance of him. It was a spacious room, elegant in all its appointments, but my hasty glance revealed only three occupants. Sitting at a handsomely polished mahogany writing-table near the centre of the apartment was a short, stoutly built man, with straggly beard and fierce, stern eyes. I recognized him at once, although he wore neither uniform nor other insignia of rank. Close beside him stood a colonel of engineers, possibly his chief of staff, while to the right, leaning negligently with one arm on the mantel-shelf above the fireplace, and smiling insolently at me, was Brennan.

The sight of him stiffened me like a drink of brandy, and as the young aide closed the door in my rear, I stepped instantly forward to the table, facing him who I knew must be in command, and removing my hat, saluted.

“This is the prisoner you sent for, sir,” announced the aide.

The officer, who remained seated, looked at me intently,

“Have I ever met you before?” he questioned, as though doubting his memory.

“You have, General Sheridan,” I replied, “I was with General Early during your conference at White Horse Tavern. I also bore a flag to you after the cavalry skirmish at Wilson's Ford.”

“I remember,” shortly, and as he spoke he wheeled in his chair to face Brennan.

“I thought you reported this officer as a spy?” he said sternly. “He is in uniform, and doubtless told you his name and rank.”

“I certainly had every reason to believe he penetrated our lines in disguise,” was the instant reply. “This cavalry cloak was found with him, and consequently I naturally supposed his claim of rank to be false.”

Sheridan looked annoyed, yet turned back to me without administering the sharp rebuke which seemed burning upon his lips.

“Were you wearing that cavalry cloak within our lines?” he questioned sternly.

“I was not, sir; it was indeed lying upon the floor of the hut when Major Brennan entered, but I had nothing to do with it.”

He gazed at me searchingly for a moment in silence.

“I regret we have treated you with so little consideration,” he said apologetically, “but you were supposed to be merely a spy. May I ask your name and rank?”

“Captain Wayne, ——th Virginia Cavalry.”

“Why were you within our lines?”

“I was passing through them with despatches.”

“For whom?”

“You certainly realize that I must decline to answer.”

“Major Brennan,” he asked, turning aside again, “was this officer searched by your party?”

“He was, sir, but no papers were found. He stated to me later that his despatch was verbal.”

“Had it been delivered?”

“I so understood him.”

“Well, how did he account to you for being where he was found?”

Brennan hesitated, and glanced uneasily toward me. Like a flash the thought came that the man was striving to keep her name entirely out of sight: he did not wish her presence mentioned.

“There was no explanation attempted,” he said finally. “He seemed simply to be hiding there.”

“Alone?”

Again I caught his eyes, and it almost seemed that I read entreaty in them.

“Excepting the wife of the mountaineer,” he answered hoarsely.

“Is this true?” asked Sheridan, his stern face fronting me.

I made my decision instantly. There might be some reason, possibly her own request, whereby her being alone with me that night should remain untold. Very well, it would never be borne to other ears through any failure of my lips to guard the secret. She had voluntarily pledged herself to go to Sheridan in my defence; until she did so, her secret, if secret indeed it was, should remain safe with me. I could do no less in honor.

“It is not altogether true,” I said firmly, “and no one knows this better than Major Brennan. I was there, as I told him, wholly because of an accident upon the road, but as to its particulars I must most respectfully decline to answer.”

“You realize what such a refusal may mean to you?”

“I understand fully the construction which may unjustly be placed upon it by those who desire to condemn me, but at present I can make no more definite reply. I have reason to believe the full facts will be presented to you by one in whose word you will have confidence.”

I caught a gleam of positive delight in Brennan's eyes, and instantly wondered if this seeming reluctance upon his part was not merely a clever mode of tricking me into silence,—into what might seem an insolent contempt of Federal authority. I would wait and see. There would surely be ample time for her to act if she desired to do so. Anyway, I was little disposed to find shelter behind a woman's skirts.

Sheridan straightened in his chair, and looked across the table at me almost angrily.

“Very well, sir,” he said gravely. “Your fate is in your own hands, and will depend very largely upon your replies to my questions. You claim to have been the bearer of despatches, and hence no spy, yet you possess nothing to substantiate your claim. As your regiment is with Lee, I presume you were seeking Longstreet. Were your despatches delivered?”

“I have reason to believe so.”

“By yourself?”

“By the sergeant who accompanied me, and who continued the journey after I was detained.”

“Is Lee contemplating an immediate movement?”

“General Sheridan,” I exclaimed indignantly, “you must surely forget that I am an officer of the Confederate Army. You certainly have no reason to expect that I will so far disregard my obvious duty as to answer such a question.”

“Your refusal to explain why you were hiding within our lines is ample reason for my insistence,” he said tartly, “and I am not accustomed to treating spies with any great consideration, even when they claim Rebel commissions. You are not the first to seek escape in that way. Was your despatch the cause of the hurried departure of Longstreet's troops eastward?”

This last question was hurled directly at me, and I noticed that every eye in the room was eagerly scanning my face. I had the quick, fiery temper of a boy then, and my cheeks flushed.

“I positively decline to answer one word relative to the despatches intrusted to me,” I said deliberately, and my voice shook with sudden rush of anger. “And no officer who did not dishonor the uniform he wore would insult me with the question.”

A bombshell exploding in the room could not have astonished them as did my answer. I realized to the full the probable result, but my spirit was high, and I felt the utter uselessness of prolonging the interview. Sooner or later the same end must come.

Sheridan's face, naturally flushed, instantly grew crimson, and a dangerous light flamed into his fierce eyes. For a moment he seemed unable to speak; then he thundered forth:

“You young fool! I can tell you that you will speak before another twenty-four hours, or I'll hang you for a spy if it cost me my command. Major Brennan, take this young popinjay to the Mansion House under guard.”

Brennan stepped forward, smiling as if he enjoyed the part assigned to him.

“Come on, you Johnny,” he said coarsely, his hand closing heavily on my arm. Then, seeming unable to repress his pleasure at the ending of the interview, and his present sense of power, he bent lower, so that his insolent words should not reach the others, and hissed hotly:

“Stealing women is probably more in your line than this.”

At the sneering words, and the insulting look which accompanied them, my blood, already boiling, leaped into sudden fire. All the fierce hatred engendered within me by his past treatment, his cowardly insinuations, his unknown yet intimate relationship to the woman I loved, flamed up in irresistible power, and I struck him with my open hand across the lips.

“You miserable hound!” I cried madly. “None but a coward would taunt a helpless prisoner. I only hope I may yet be free long enough to write the lie with steel across your heart.”

Before he could move Sheridan was upon his feet and between us.

“Back, both of you!” he ordered sharply. “There shall be no brawling here. Major Brennan, you will remain; I would speak with you further regarding this matter. Lieutenant Caton, take charge of the prisoner.”

CHAPTER XII. — UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH

At this late date I doubt greatly if my situation at that time was so desperate as I then conceived it. I question now whether the death sentence would ever have been executed. But then, with the memory of Sheridan's rage and my own hot-headed retort, I fully believed my fate was destined to be that of the condemned spy, unless she who alone might tell the whole truth should voluntarily do so. That circumstances had left me in the power of one whose fierce dislike was already evident was beyond question, and I had yielded to his goading to such an extent as to give those in authority every excuse for the exercise of extreme military power. Yet of one thing I was firmly resolved—no thoughtless word of mine should ever endanger the reputation of Edith Brennan. Right or wrong, I would go to a death of dishonor before I would speak without her authority. Love and pride conspired to make this decision adamant. There might, indeed, be no reason why I should not speak with utmost freedom; but as to this I could not judge, and therefore preferred the safer side of silence. The action of Brennan had impressed this upon me as a duty; had caused me to feel that I could best serve her by blotting out the adventures of the night before. Seemingly it was her own desire, and as a gentleman, an officer, a man of honor, I might not even question that decree.

Deeply as these considerations would have affected me under ordinary conditions, one doubt now overshadowed them all. Was the man I struck the husband of the woman I loved? This was what I desired to know even above my own fate. I scarcely doubted, yet would not yield the slight hope I retained that it might prove otherwise. A trick of chance speech seemed to solve the problem, to answer that question which I durst not ask directly.

“Come,” said Caton, briefly, and I turned and accompanied him without thought of resistance. At the front door he ordered the little squad of waiting soldiers to fall in, and taking me by the arm, led the way down the gravelled path to the road. I was impressed by his seeming carelessness, but as we cleared the gateway he spoke, and his words helped me to comprehend.

“Captain Wayne,” he said quietly, so that the words could not be overheard, “you do not recognize me, but I was the officer who conducted you to headquarters when you brought the flag in at Wilson Creek. Of course I must perform the duty given me, but I wish you to understand that I wholly believe your word.”

He stopped, extended his hand, and I accepted it silently.

“There must surely be some grave personal reason which seals your lips?” he questioned.

“There is.”

“I thought as much. I chanced to overhear the words, or rather a portion of them, which Brennan whispered, and have no doubt if they were explained to the General he would feel more kindly disposed toward you.”

It was asked as a question, and I felt obliged to reply.

“I appreciate deeply your desire to aid me, but there are circumstances involving others which compel me for the present to silence. Indeed my possible fate does not so greatly trouble me, only that I possess a strong desire to have freedom long enough to cross swords with this major of yours. The quarrel between us has become bitterly personal, and I hunger for a chance to have it out. Do you know, is he a man who would fight?”

The young fellow stiffened slightly.

“We are serving upon the same staff,” he said more abruptly, “and while we have never been close friends, yet I cannot honorably take sides against him. He has been out twice within the last three years to my knowledge, and is not devoid either of courage or skill. Possibly, however, the arrival of his wife may make him less a fire-eater.”

“His wife?”

I stopped so suddenly that he involuntarily tightened his grip upon my arm as though suspicious of an attempt to escape.

“Do you,” I asked, gaining some slight control over myself, “refer to the lady who came in with his party last evening?”

“Most certainly; she was presented to all of us as Mrs. Brennan, she has been assigned rooms at his quarters, and she wears a wedding-ring. Far too fine a woman in my judgment for such a master, but then that is not so uncommon a mistake in marriage. Why, come to think about it, you must have met her yourself. Have you reason to suspect this is not their relationship?”

“Not in the least,” I hastened to answer, fearful lest my thoughtless exclamation might become the basis for camp gossip. “Indeed I was scarcely in the lady's presence at all coming in, as I was left in charge of the sergeant.”

He looked at me keenly through the darkness.

“It seems somewhat curious to me that such deep enmity has grown up between you two in so short a time. One almost suspects, as in most cases, there may be a woman at the bottom of it.”

I laughed carelessly.

“Not in the least, my friend. But there are indignities a captor can show to his prisoner which no true gentleman would ever be guilty of and no soldier would forgive.”

I could see in the torch-light his face flush with sudden indignation.

“You are right,” he returned heartily, “and from my knowledge of Brennan I can understand your meaning. What business has such a man to possess a wife?”

Perhaps he felt that he had already said too much, for we tramped on in silence until we drew near a large, square white building standing directly beside the road.

“This is the old Culverton tavern, known as the Mansion House,” he said. “It is a tremendous big building for this country, with as fine a ballroom in it as I have seen since leaving New York. We utilize it for almost every military purpose, and among others some of the strong rooms in the basement are found valuable for the safe-keeping of important prisoners.”

We mounted the front steps as he was speaking, passing through a cordon of guards, and in the wide hallway I was turned over to the officer in charge.

“Good-night, Captain,” said Caton, kindly extending his hand. “You may rest assured that I shall say all I can in your favor, but it is to be regretted that Brennan has great influence just now at headquarters, and Sheridan is not a man to lightly overlook those hasty words you spoke to him.”

I could only thank him most warmly for his interest, realizing fully from his grave manner my desperate situation, and follow my silent conductor down some narrow and steep stairs until we stood upon the cemented floor of the basement. Here a heavy door in the stone division wall was opened; I was pushed forward into the dense darkness within, and the lock clicked dully behind me. So thick was the wall I could not even distinguish the retreating steps of the jailer.

Tired as I was from the intense strain of the past thirty-six hours, even my anxious thoughts were insufficient to keep me awake. Feeling my way cautiously along the wall, I came at last to a wide wooden bench, and stretching my form at full length upon it, pillowed my head on one arm, and almost instantly was sound asleep.

When I awoke, sore from my hard bed and stiffened by the uncomfortable position in which I lay, it was broad daylight. That the morning was, indeed, well advanced I knew from the single ray of sunlight which streamed in through a grated window high up in the wall opposite me and fell like a bar of gold across the rough stone floor. I was alone. Even in the dark of the previous night I had discovered the sole pretence to furniture in the place. The room itself proved to be a large and almost square apartment, probably during the ordinary occupancy of the house a receptacle for wood or garden produce, but now peculiarly well adapted to the safeguarding of prisoners.

The solid stone walls were of sufficient height to afford no chance of reaching the great oak girders that supported the floor above, even had the doing so offered a favorable opening for escape. There were, apparently, but three openings of any kind,—the outside window through which the sunlight streamed, protected by thick bars of iron; a second opening, quite narrow, and likewise protected by a heavy metal grating; and the tightly locked door by means of which I had entered. The second, I concluded, after inspecting it closely, was a mere air passage leading into some other division of the cellar. I noted these openings idly, and with scarcely a thought as to the possibility of escape. I had awakened with strange indifference as to what my fate might be. Such a feeling was not natural to me, but the fierce emotions of the preceding night had seemingly robbed me of all my usual buoyancy of hope. In one sense I yet trusted that Mrs. Brennan would keep her pledge and tell her story to Sheridan; if she failed to do this, and left me to face the rifles or the rope, then it made but small odds how soon it should be over. If she cared for me in the slightest degree she would not let me die unjustly, and to my mind then she had become the centre of all life.

Despondency is largely a matter of physical condition, and I was still sufficiently fagged to be in the depths, when the door opened suddenly, and an ordinary army ration was placed within. The soldier who brought it did not speak, nor did I attempt to address him; but after he retired, the appetizing smell of the bacon, together with the unmistakable flavor of real coffee, drew me irrresistibly that way, and I made a hearty meal. The food put new life into me, and I fell to pacing back and forth between the corners of the cell, my mind full of questioning, yet with a fresh measure of confidence that all would still be well.

I was yet at it when, without warning, the door once again opened, and Lieutenant Caton entered. He advanced toward me with outstretched hand, which I grasped warmly, for I felt how much depended on his friendship, and resolved to ask him some questions which should solve my last remaining doubts.

“Captain Wayne,” he began soberly, looking about him, “you are in even worse stress here than I had supposed, but I shall see to it that you are furnished with blankets before I leave.”

“You have nothing new, then, to communicate regarding the possibility of release?” I asked anxiously.

“Alas, no; Brennan appears to hate you with all the animosity of his strange nature, and his influence is so much stronger than mine that I have almost been commanded not to mention your name again.”

“But surely,” I urged, “I am to receive the ordinary privilege of a prisoner of war? General Sheridan will not condemn me without evidence or trial, merely because in a moment of sudden anger I used hasty words, which I have ever since regretted?”

Caton shook his head.

“My dear fellow, it is not that. Sheridan is hasty himself, and his temper often leads him to rash language. No, I am sure he bears you no malice for what you said. But Brennan has his ear, and has whispered something to him in confidence—what, I have been unable to ascertain—which has convinced him that you are deserving of death under martial law.”

“Without trial?”

“The opportunity of furnishing the information desired will be again offered you; but, as near as I can learn, the charge preferred against you is of such a private nature that it is deemed best not to make it matter for camp talk. Whatever it may be, Sheridan evidently feels justified in taking the case out from the usual channels, and in using most drastic measures. I am sorry to bring you such news, especially as I believe the charges are largely concocted in the brain of him who makes them, and have but the thinnest circumstantial evidence to sustain them. Yet Sheridan is thoroughly convinced, and will brook no interference. The discussion of the case has already led to his using extremely harsh words to his chief of staff.”

“I am to be shot, then?”

His hand closed warmly over mine. “While there is life there is always hope,” he answered. “Surely it must be in your power to prove the nature of your mission within our lines, and the delay thus gained will enable us to learn and meet these more serious allegations.”

“If I but had time to communicate with General Lee.”

“But now—is there no one, no way by which such representation can be given this very day? If not full proof of your innocence, then sufficient, at least, to cause the necessary delay?”

I shook my head. “I know of nothing other than my own unsupported word,” I answered shortly, “and that is evidently of no value as against Major Brennan's secret insinuations. When is the hour set?”

“I am not positive that final decision has yet been reached, but I heard daybreak to-morrow mentioned. The probability of an early movement of our troops is the excuse urged for such unseemly haste.”

I remained silent for a moment, conscious only of his kindly eyes reading my face.

“Mrs. Brennan,” I asked finally, recurring to the one thought in which I retained deep interest,—“does she still remain in the camp?”

“She was with the Major at headquarters this morning. I believe they breakfasted with the General, but I was on duty so late last night that I overslept, and thus missed the pleasure of meeting her again.”

We talked for some time longer, and he continued to urge me for some further word, but I could give him none, and finally the kindly fellow departed, promising to see me again within a few hours. Greatly as I now valued his friendship, it was, nevertheless, a relief to be alone with my thoughts once more.

CHAPTER XIII. — A STRANGE WAY OUT

Caton came in once more about the middle of the afternoon, bringing me some blankets; but he had no news, and his boyish face was a picture of pathos as he wrung my hand good-bye. Sheridan, he said, had gone down the lines, and both Brennan and himself were under orders to follow in another hour. What instructions, if any, had been left regarding my case he could not say, but he feared the worst from the unusual secrecy. Sheridan expected to return to his headquarters that same evening, as the officers of his staff were to give a grand ball.

I felt no inclination to partake of the rude supper left me, and just before dark I was lying upon the bench idly wondering if that was to prove the last vestige of daylight I should ever behold in this world, when, without slightest warning, the heavy iron grating in the wall directly above me fell suddenly, striking the edge of the bench, and clattered noisily to the floor. The fall was so unexpected, and my escape from injury so narrow, that I lay almost stunned, staring up helplessly at the dark hole thus left bare. As I gazed, a face framed itself in this narrow opening, and two wary eyes peered cautiously down at me. There was no mistaking that countenance even in the fast waning light, and I instantly sat up with an exclamation of surprise, “Jed Bungay, as I live!”

The puzzled face broke into a grin of delight.

“Holy smoke, Cap,” he ejaculated, with a deep sigh of relief, “'s thet you, suah? I wus so durned skeered I'd made a mess o' it whin thet thar iron drapped thet I near died. 'He crossed the threshold—and a clang of angry steel that instant rang.'”

He peered around cautiously, screwing up his little eyes as though transforming them into miniature telescopes.

“'If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright, go visit it by the pale moonlight.' Be ye all alone, Cap?”

“With the exception of a few rats, yes.”

“Whut be they a goin' ter dew with ye?”

“I have every reason to believe it is their purpose to shoot me at daybreak to-morrow.”

“Shoot?—Hell!” He stared at me as if he had just heard his own death sentence pronounced, and his little peaked face looked ghastly in the dim light. “Shoot ye? Good Lord, Cap, whut fer? Ye ain't done nothin' as I knows on, 'cept ter scrap a bit with thet blasted Yank, an' sure thet's no shootin' matter, er else I'd a bin a goner long ago.”

“That 'Yank' has seen fit to charge me with being a spy; and as I was foolish enough to insult General Sheridan last night, my fate is probably sealed.”

This somewhat complex statement seemed to be too much for Jed to grasp promptly.

“Gosh, ye don't say!” he muttered. “Then, durn it, I'm in luck, fer all they've got agin me is pot-shootin' at a nigger soger up in ther mountings; en thet ain't much, 'cause I didn't hit ther durned cuss. Blame sorry tew, fer 'Who spills the foremost foeman's life, his party conquers in the strife.' Thet's Scott agin, Cap. Dew ye ever read Sir Walter? I tell ye, he's a poet, suah.”

Without pausing for a reply, or even noting that none had been given, Jed was carefully covering every inch of exposed wall with his little shrewd, glinting eyes.

“Ain't much show ter work out o' yere, is thar, Cap?” he asked at last reflectively; “leastwise I don't see none, 'less them thar dark corners hes got holes in 'em.”

“The wall is entirely solid.”

“So I sorter reckoned. But if ye'll crawl through yere inter my boodour, thar's a place whar I reckon ther tew of us tergether mought make a try fer it. It's too durn high up fer me ter git at alone.”

I rose to my feet slowly, wondering at the strange lassitude which made me so indifferent to that life I had always before so highly valued. Bungay noticed my hopelessness.

“Durned if prison life don't take all the sand out o' a feller,” he said cheerfully. “Blame me, but ye move as if ye wus 'bout half dead. But I reckon, Cap, if ye cud manage ter git out o' yere ternight, an' take some news ter Lee thet I've picked up, he'd 'bout make both of us ginerals. 'Speed, Malise, speed! The dun deer's hide on fleeter foot was never tied.'”

These words brought back to me in an instantaneous flash the old dominant military spirit. For Lee! Yes, for Lee I would yet take chances, undergo fatigue, brave death. If life must be given up, let it be yielded gallantly in the open, and on behalf of my distant comrades.

“News for Lee?” I exclaimed, staring eagerly at him through the now darkened room. “Do you mean it? What news?”

“Thought maybe thet wud wake ye up,” he chuckled.

“'Speed on the signal, clansman, speed!' Stan' up on ther bench, Cap, an' put yer ear up yere an' I'LL tell ye. This yere's gospel truth: Sheridan hes started his infantry on a half-circle march fer Minersville. Ther first division left et three o'clock, an' thar won't be nary Yank loafin' en ther valley by noon termorrow. An' more,” he added rapidly, his eyes dancing wildly with suppressed excitement,—“Hancock is a swingin' of his corps west ter meet 'em thar, an' I reckon, as how thar'll be hell fer sartain up ther Shenandoah in less ner a week—es Scott ses, 'the wild sounds of border war.'”

“But how do you know all this?” I questioned incredulously, as the whole scene and its dread possibilities unrolled before my mental vision.

“Ther nigger I held up hed a despatch fer Heintzelman over on ther left, an' then Mariar she sorter pumped a young fule staff officer fer ther rest o' it,” he replied promptly. “Oh, it's a sure go, Cap, an' I reckon as how maybe Lee's whole army hangs on one of us gittin' out o' yere ternight.

“'Where, where was Roderick then?
One blast upon his bugle horn
Were worth a thousand men.'”

That he meant every word he spoke I felt convinced, and his enthusiasm was contagious. My blood leaped within me at this call to action; all lethargy fled, and with it every deadening thought of her who had so suddenly woven about me the meshes of her power. False or true, maid, wife, or widow, my duty as a soldier to my commander and the army to which I belonged, blotted out all else. Even as this new rush of determination swept over me, above us there sounded clearly the dashing music of a military band in the strains of a Strauss's waltz, and we could distinguish the muffled shuffling of many feet on the oaken floor overhead. Caton's chance remark about the great ball to be given that evening by officers of the headquarters staff recurred to my memory.

“That dancing up there will help us, Jed,” I said quickly, my mind now active to grasp every detail. “You say there is a chance for escape from your cell? Then give me your hand, and help me to crawl through that hole.”

It was a narrow squeeze for a man of my size, yet I crept through without great difficulty, and found myself in the dense darkness of a room which, as I judged hastily from feeling about me, was similar in shape and extent to the one in which I had been confined.

Bungay, however, permitted me little time for exploration. Grasping me firmly by one arm, and feeling his way along the wall, he groped across to the other side.

“There's a mighty big stone chimbly comes down yere, Cap,” he whispered, his lips close to my ears, although the noise above made conversation in an ordinary tone perfectly safe. “An' ther openin' ter take out soot an' ashes is up thar, jist b'low ther fluer. It's a sheet-iron pan, I reckon, ther way it feels; an' it must be thar they put a nigger in ter clean ther chimbly whin it gits stuffed up. I could git up thar alone, but I couldn't do no work, but thet thar pan ought ter cum out all right. Dew ye think ye cud hoi' me up, Cap? I'm purty durn heavy.”

I smiled in the darkness at the little fellow's egotism, and lifting him as I might a child, poised him lightly upon my shoulder. He struggled a moment to steady himself against the wall, and then I could feel him tugging eagerly at something which appeared to yield slowly to his efforts. As he worked, a dense shower of dust and soot caused me to close my eyes.

“She's a comin' all right,” he said cheerfully, puffing with his exertions, “but I reckon as how this chimbly ain't bin cleaned out since ther war begun. Hold up yer right han', Cap, an' git a blame good grip on her, fer she's almighty full, an'll wanter go down sorter easy like.”

I did as he suggested, bracing myself to meet his movements, as he stood straining on my shoulders, and in another moment I had succeeded in lowering the large sheet-iron pan silently to the floor.

“Room 'nough yere fer two men ter oncet,” chuckled my companion, in rare delight. “'The chief in silence strode before.' Yere goes.”

His weight left my shoulders; there was a slight scramble, another shower of dirt, then the sound of his voice once more.

“Lift up yer han's, Cap; dig in yer toes on ther stones, an' we'll begin our vi'ge.”

He grasped my wrists with a strength which I had no conception the little fellow possessed. There was a moment's breathless struggle, and I squirmed through the opening, and lay panting on the flat slabs which composed the foot of the great funnel. To afford me more room Bungay had gone up a little, finding foot-lodgment upon the uneven stones of which the chimney was constructed. For a moment we rested thus motionless, both breathing heavily and listening to the music and shuffling of feet now almost upon a level with our heads.

The noise, which was strong and continuous, rendered discovery from any misstep highly improbable, and as delay was dangerous neither of us was disposed to linger long.

“Be ye all ready, Cap?” questioned Bungay, bending his head down. “Fer if ye be, I'm a goin' up.”

“All right,” I answered, struggling to my knees in the narrow space; “only take it slow, Jed. I 'm a trifle bigger man than you, and this is rather close quarters.”

“Wal, yes, maybe a matter of a poun' er two,” he retorted, and the next moment I could hear him scraping his way upward, feeling for foothold upon the irregular layers of stone. I followed, pressing my knees firmly against the rough wall, and trusting more to my hands than feet for security against falling. There was evidently a fireplace of some kind on the first floor, with a considerable opening leading from it into the chimney we were scaling, for as Jed slowly passed, I could perceive a sudden gleam of light streaming across his face from the glare of the lamps within. He glanced anxiously that way, but did not pause in his steady climb upward.

A moment later I came opposite that same beam of radiance, and cautiously peered down the sloped opening that led to the disused fireplace. All I could perceive was a pair of legs, evidently those of a cavalry officer, judging from the broad yellow stripe down the seam of the light-blue trousers, and the high boots ornamented with rowel spurs. He stood leaning carelessly against the mantel, talking with some one just beyond the range of my vision.

At that moment the music ceased suddenly, and afraid to proceed until it should strike up again, I braced myself securely on a projecting stone and bent my head over the orifice until I could catch a portion of the conversation being carried on by my unconscious neighbors.

“No,” said the cavalryman, gruffly, and apparently in reply to some previous question, “the fellow was most devilish obstinate; wouldn't tell the first thing; even a threat of treating him as a spy and hanging him outright proved of no avail. But Sheridan's theory is that Lee has ordered Longstreet to hit our rear, while he makes a direct attack in front. That's why the 'old man' proposes to get in his work first, and we march at daylight to form connection with Hancock. By Jove, Chesley, but that woman in black over there with Follansbee is the handsomest picture I've seen south of the line. Mark how her eyes sparkle, and how prettily the light gleams in her hair. Who is she, do you chance to know?”

“Yes,” lisped the other, languidly, “met her at breakfast, headquarters, this morning. Deuced pretty and all that, mighty good style, too, but taken, old man. She's Brennan's.”

“What! not Major Brennan?” in surprise. “Why, he's always posed as a bachelor among our fellows.”

“Don't know anything about that, dear boy,” indifferently, “but the lady came in with him yesterday, was introduced to the crowd of us as Mrs. Brennan, and he called her Edith. Deuced nice name, Edith. As Brennan has shown such poor taste as to be absent to-night, I'm inclined to give a little of my time to his lady. Far and away the prettiest thing here.”

Just at this moment I heard Bungay speaking to me agonizingly down the chimney:

“Durn it all, Cap, I've—I've got ter sneeze.”

There was a smothered struggle in the darkness above me, then a muffled explosion that showered me with soot, and sounded to my startled nerves like the report of a gun. I drew up my legs hastily, and had barely done so when a heavily whiskered face peered up at me through the open fireplace. It appeared so close I had no doubt he saw me, but his eyes were unable to penetrate the darkness.

“Sounded devilishly like a sneeze,” he said suspiciously, as he straightened up again. “Must have been wind in the chimney.”

“More likely bats,” returned the other. “Well, so long, Somers; see you in the morning. I'm going to give the fair Edith a whirl.”

The cavalry legs shifted their position; the band resumed its functions, and in the renewed activity and noise I began again the toilsome climb, my mind now a bewildered chaos between my plain duty to Lee and my nearly uncontrollable desire to meet once more the woman who was dancing in the room below.

The little mountaineer, as active as a cat, and not especially hampered by lack of room in which to work, was well above me by this time. The chimney, acting as a tube, brought down to me from time to time the slight noise of his climbing, varied by an occasional exclamation or comment, but I could perceive no other evidence of his presence. Above, all was as black as the grave.

“Holy smoke!” he ejaculated, probably unaware that he was giving utterance to his thoughts. “That was a sharp rock! Durn if thar's a inch o' skin left on my knee. Whut is it Scott ses? 'An' broken arms and disarray marked the fell havoc of the day.' Gee! if Mariar cud only see me now, maybe she wouldn't be proud—

“'Sweet Maria, dear my life must be
Since it is worthy care from thee;
Yet life I hold but idle breath,
When love or honor's weighed with death!'

“Ough! stop thet! who's got hold o' my fut?”

“Hush your racket, you little fool,” I said angrily. “Do you want the whole Yankee army to trap us here like rats? I cannot get up this chimney any farther; it is growing too small to permit my body to pass.”

“Is thet so, Cap?” he asked anxiously. “Whut be ye goin' ter dew 'bout it?”

I made no answer for a moment; I was groping about in the darkness of our narrow quarters to see if I could determine exactly where we were.

“How high is this house, Jed, do you know?”

“Three stories an' attic.”

“How far up are we?”

“'Bout halfway 'long ther third story, I reckon; must be jist b'low whar ye are thet I stuck my fut down an openin'. Reckon 't was 'nother fireplace, like thet one on ther first flure.”

I lowered myself silently, and felt along the stones until I located the opening, and roughly measured its dimensions.

“I shall have to risk crawling out here, Jed,” I said finally, “for I shall surely stick fast if I go up another ten feet. Do you suppose you can squeeze through to the top?”

“I reckon I kin,” he returned calmly. “'Just as the minstrel's sounds were stayed, a stranger climbed the steepy glade.' But hadn't we better stick tergether, Cap?” “No,” I answered firmly. “You go on, and one of us must get through to Lee. Don't mind me at all; get down from the roof as best you can. If I am caught it will be all the more important that you should succeed.”

“'Tis done—'I thank thee, Roderick, for the word; it nerves my heart, it steels my sword.'”

Even as he spoke I could hear him creeping steadily upward. It soon became evident that his progress was growing slower, more difficult. Then all sounds above me ceased, and I knew he must have attained the roof in safety.

CHAPTER XIV. — I BECOME A COLONEL OF ARTILLERY

My own situation at this moment was too critical, too full of peril and uncertainty, to afford opportunity for moralizing over Bungay's chances of escape. Only one possibility lay before me—there remained no choice, no necessity for planning. It is pure luck which pries open most doors of life, and it was upon luck alone I must rely now. I have often wondered since how I ever succeeded in squeezing my body through that narrow opening into the empty fireplace without at least knocking over something during the difficult passage. But I did manage, working my way down slowly, creeping inch by inch like a snake, carefully testing each object I touched in the darkness for fear of its proving loose, until I finally lay stretched at full length upon what was evidently, from its feeling, a carpet of unusually fine texture.

The room proved to be an inner one and unlighted, a bedchamber, as I soon determined, for my outstretched hands encountered the posts of a bed. Then a slight gust of air partially swept aside a hanging curtain, which rustled like silk, and I caught a brief glimpse of the adjacent parlor. It was likewise unillumined, but the door leading into the front hall stood ajar, and through that opening there poured a stream of radiance, together with the incessant hum of many voices in animated conversation, the deep blare of the band, with the ceaseless movement of dancing feet.

Satisfying myself by sense of touch that the bed was unoccupied, for I was far too experienced a soldier to leave an enemy in my rear, I crept cautiously forward to the intercepting curtain, and drawing it aside took careful survey of the outer apartment. It was a large and handsomely furnished room, a polished mahogany writing-table littered with papers occupying a prominent position against the farther wall. A swivel chair stood beside it, and across its back hung what appeared to be a suit of clothing. I saw no other signs of human occupancy.

Convinced that the apartment was deserted, and discovering no different means of egress, I crossed the room on tiptoe, and peered cautiously out into the hall. It was not a pleasing prospect to one in my predicament. The lower portion, judging from the incessant hum of voices, was filled with people, who were either unable to find place within the crowded ballroom, or else preferred greater retirement for conversation. Even the wide stairway had been partially pre-empted, a young lieutenant, as I judged from his shoulder-straps, sitting just beneath the landing, whispering eagerly into the attentive ear of a pronounced blonde who shared the broad carpeted step with him.

I drew back noiselessly, to figure out the situation and determine what was best for me to attempt. It would be sheer madness to venture upon a passage to the front door, clad as I was in travel-worn gray uniform; to rush through that jam was impossible. If I were to wait until the dance was concluded the later hours of the night might indeed yield me somewhat clearer passage, yet it was hardly probable that the house, used as I knew it to be for a military prison, would be left unguarded. Besides, such delay must absolutely prevent my getting beyond the Federal picket lines before daybreak, and would hence render valueless the news I sought to bear to Lee.

I moved to the only window and glanced out; it opened upon the back of the house and presented a sheer drop to the ground. At the slight noise of the moving sash a sentry standing at the corner glanced up suspiciously. Evidently each side of the great building was abundantly protected by patrols.

Something had to be attempted, and at once. The room I was in bore unquestionable evidence of recent occupancy, and at any moment might be re-entered. My searching eyes fell upon the articles of clothing carelessly folded over the chair-back. I picked up the garments one by one and shook them out; they composed the new uniform of a colonel of artillery, and were resplendent with bright red facings and a profusion of gold braid. With all my soul I loathed the thought of disguise, and especially the hated uniform of the enemy. It was repugnant to every instinct of my being, and would certainly mean added degradation and danger in the event of capture.

Yet I saw no other way. Sheridan, Brennan, Caton, the three who would certainly recognize me on sight, I was assured were absent, although they might return at any moment. The greater reason for haste, the less excuse for delay. But if I should chance to run foul of the rightful owner of the garments amid that crush below, and he should recognize them, what then? I stood close beside the writing-table as I revolved these considerations rapidly in mind, and my eye chanced to fall upon an open paper. It was an official order, bearing date at 5 P. M. that same day, commanding Colonel Culbertson to move his battery at once down the Kendallville pike, and report to Brigadier-General Knowls for assignment to his brigade. Evidently the new dress uniform had been carefully brushed and laid out to be worn at the ball that evening; the sudden receipt of this order had caused the owner to depart hastily in his service dress, vigorously expressing his feelings, no doubt, while his servant, now enjoying liberty below stairs, had neglected to pack up his master's things.

This knowledge was the straw which decided me; I would chance it. Hastily I drew on the rich blue and red over my old gray, adding the dress sword I had discovered in a closet, and then, wondering curiously what sort of figure I might cut in all these fine habiliments, sought a glance at myself within a mirror hanging upon the bedroom wall. Faith! but it was God's mercy that I did!

Such a face as grinned at me from that glass, peering over the high-cut, decorated collar, would surely have created a genuine sensation in those rooms below. Serious as my situation was, I laughed at the thought of it until tears ran down my cheeks, leaving white streaks the full length of them; for no chimney-sweep in the full tide of his glorious career was ever worse sooted and begrimed. I thought of the elegantly dressed lieutenant and the blonde young lady upon the stairs—surely they would have supposed the very devil himself was coming down.

It took me nearly a quarter of an hour to get myself tolerably clean, and I could not have done that had I not used some grease that was upon the stand. At the end, however, I stepped back from the glass confident that with good luck I should run the gantlet safely.

Just as I prepared to step forth a new thought occurred to me—who was I? If questioned, as was highly probable, how could I account for my presence? Who should I pretend to be? I turned over the mass of papers lying before me on the table. They were mostly accounts and detailed orders about which I cared nothing, but finally my search was rewarded by the discovery of a recent army list. I ran my eyes hastily down the artillery assignments—Barry, Sommers, Fitzmorris, Sloan, Reilly. Ah, there at last was exactly what I wanted—“Patrick L. Curran, Colonel Sixth Ohio Light Artillery, McRoberts's Division, Thomas's Corps, assigned special service, staff Major-General Halleck, Washington, D. C.”

“Curran, Sixth Ohio”—good; and the other? I glanced again at the open order. “Culbertson, Fourteenth Pennsylvania.” I would remember those names, and with a jaunty confidence in my success, born of thorough preparation, I stepped to the open door and strode forth into the brilliantly lighted hall. Barring the single accident of encountering a possible acquaintance in the throng below, I felt fully capable of deceiving his Satanic Majesty himself.

CHAPTER XV. — AT THE STAFF OFFICERS' BALL

THE young officer glanced up hastily at sound of approaching footsteps, and rose to his feet to permit of my passage. He wore the full dress uniform of an artilleryman, and his evident surprise at my presence made me realize the necessity of addressing him.

“Lieutenant,” I asked courteously, resting one hand easily upon the balustrade, “could you inform me if General Sheridan and those members of the staff who accompanied him down the lines this afternoon have yet returned?”

“They have not, sir.”

“Ah, I was in hopes they might have arrived by this time. I see that you belong to my branch of the service. May I inquire your battery?”

He flushed with pleasure at the delicate flattery of my tone, and in true soldierly pride of his corps.

“B, Fifth New Jersey, sir.”

“I think I remember them in action—no better command in the service. You were at Gettysburg?”

“On Seminary Ridge, sir. It was my first battle.”

“A hard baptism of fire, indeed, yet a remembrance you will long be proud to recall. I thank you for your courtesy.”

I bowed to them both, and passed slowly down the wide stairway, several couples rising as I drew near to permit of my passage. The intense excitement of the strange adventure had by this time become a positive delight. My cheek flushed, my eyes kindled as though new blood flowed in my veins.

“Ah!” I thought to myself proudly, “what a story it will all make for the camp-fire, and if I reach Lee in time the tale of this night will be upon the lips of all the army.”

The lower hall was very comfortably filled with figures moving here and there in converse, or occupying seats pressed close against the walls. The greater portion were attired in uniforms of the various branches of service, yet I observed not a few civilian suits, and a considerable number of women, some wearing the neat dress of the army nurse, others much more elaborately attired—daughters of the neighborhood, probably, with a sprinkling of wives and sisters of the soldiery. Guards, leaning upon their muskets, stood in statuesque poses on either side of the main entrance, while the wide archway, draped with flags, opening into the ballroom, revealed an inspiring glimpse of swiftly revolving figures in gay uniforms and flashing skirts. Over all floated the low, swinging music of the band.

All this I noted as I paused irresolutely on the lower stair, wondering if I could safely walk directly out of that front door, ignoring the sentries by right of the uniform I wore, and thus attain the open air. The constant haunting fear of the early return of Sheridan and his aides, or a possible encounter with some former acquaintance in that crushing throng, almost decided me upon venturing the passage. But already I had hesitated too long. A fat, good-natured-looking man of forty, an infantry major, but wearing staff decorations, and evidently officiating in the capacity of floor-manager, after whispering a word in the ear of another of the same kind beside the ballroom door, hastily pushed his way through the laughing throng directly toward me.

“Good-evening, Colonel,” he said, bowing deeply. “Your face is not familiar to me, but you will permit me to introduce myself—Major Monsoon, of General Sheridan's staff.”

I accepted the fat, shapeless hand he extended, and pressed it warmly.

“I was just meditating a retreat, Major, when you appeared,” I replied frankly. “For I fear my face is equally unknown to all others present. Indeed, I feel like a cat in a strange garret, and hesitated to appear at all. My only excuse for doing so was a promise made Colonel Culbertson previous to his being ordered out on duty. I am Colonel Curran, of the Sixth Ohio, but at present serving on the staff of General Halleck at Washington.”

The Major's round, red face glowed with welcome.

“Extremely pleased to meet you, indeed,” he exclaimed eagerly, “and you may be sure of a most cordial greeting. Will you kindly step this way?”

As we slowly elbowed our way forward, all desire to escape from the ordeal fled, and I assumed the risks of the masquerade with the reckless audacity of my years. Before we reached the ballroom my conductor, his fat countenance fairly beaming with cordiality, had stopped at least twenty times to present me to various military titles, and I had accepted innumerable invitations without in the least knowing who gave them, or where they were to be fulfilled. Finally, however, we broke through the massed ring, and succeeded in reaching the tall individual in spectacles to whom the Major had spoken previous to seeking me, and I learned through the introduction which followed that I was in the presence of Brigadier-General Carlton, chief of staff.

For a moment, as I responded to the hearty cordiality of his welcome, I was enabled to take my first glance at the ballroom, and found it to my unaccustomed soldier eyes an inspiring spectacle. The room was magnificently large,—a surprising apartment, indeed, even in so superb a Southern home as this had evidently been, and its proportions were magnified by numerous mirrors extending from floor to ceiling, causing the more distant dancers to appear circling in space. Brilliantly illumined by means of hanging chandeliers that oscillated slightly to the merry feet; decorated lavishly everywhere with festooned flags and tastefully arranged munitions of war; gay with the dress uniforms of the men and the handsome gowns of the women, it composed a scene so different from any I had looked upon in years as to hold me fascinated. The constant clatter of tongues, the merry laughter, the flashing of bright eyes, and the gleam of snowy shoulders, the good-humored repartees caught as the various couples circled swiftly past, the quick, musical gliding of flying feet over the waxen floor, the continuous whirl of the intoxicating waltz, and over all the inspiring strains of Strauss, caused my heart to bound, and brought with it an insane desire to participate.

Yet gazing, entranced, upon the animated scene, and feeling deeply the intoxication of the moment, my eyes were eagerly searching that happy throng for sight of one fair woman's face. Strange as it must seem to others, in spite of the fact that to meet her might mean betrayal and death—ay! might even result in the destruction of an army—in my weakness I secretly longed for just such a happening; felt, indeed, that I must again see her, have speech with her, before I went forth alone into the manifold dangers of the night. It was foolhardiness,—insanity in very truth,—yet such was the secret yearning of my heart. If I could only once know, know from her own truthful lips, that she already belonged to another, I could, I believed, tear her image from my memory; but while I yet doubted (and in spite of all I had heard I doubted still), no desperate case should ever prevent my seeking her with all the mad ardor of love, no faintness of heart should intervene between us. That she was present I knew from those chance words overheard in the chimney, and my one deep hope ever since I donned that Federal uniform and ventured down the stairs (a hope most oddly mingled with dread) was that we might in some manner be brought together. I was yet vainly seeking a glimpse of her among the many who circled past, when I was suddenly recalled to the extreme delicacy of my situation by the deep voice of the Major asking me a direct question:

“Do you ever dance, Colonel?”

Exactly what I may have replied I know not, but it was evidently translated as an affirmative, for in another moment I was being piloted down the side of the long room, while he gossiped in my rather inattentive ear.

“As you have doubtless remarked, Colonel, we are extremely fortunate in our ladies to-night. By Jove, they would grace an inauguration ball at Washington. So many officers' wives have joined us lately, supposing we would make permanent camp here, and besides there are more loyal families in this neighborhood than we find usually. At least their loyalty is quite apparent while, we remain. Then the General Hospital nurses are not especially busy,—no battle lately, you know,—and there are some deuced pretty girls among them. Ballroom looks nice, don't you think?”

“Extremely well; the decorations are in most excellent taste.”

“Entirely the work of the staff. Great pity so many were compelled to be absent, but a soldier can never tell. Here upon special duty, Colonel?”

“I brought despatches from the President to General Sheridan.”

“Wish you might remain with us permanently. Your command, I believe, is not connected with our Eastern army?”

“No, with Thomas in the Cumberland.”

“Ah, yes; had some very pretty fighting out there, I understand—oh, pardon me, Miss Minor, permit me to present to you Colonel Curran, of General Halleck's staff. The Colonel, I believe, is as able a dancer as he is a soldier, and no higher compliment to his abilities could possibly be paid. Miss Minor, Colonel, is a native Virginian, who is present under protest, hoping doubtless to capture some young officer, and thus weaken the enemy.”

I bowed pleasantly to the bright-eyed young woman facing me, and not sorry to escape the Major's inquisitiveness, at once begged for the remainder of the waltz. The request was laughingly granted, and in another moment we were threading our way amid the numerous couples upon the floor. She proved so delightful a dancer that I simply yielded myself up to full enjoyment of the measure, and conversation lapsed, until a sudden cessation of the music left us stranded so close to the fireplace that the very sight of it brought a vivid realization of my perilous position. If it had not, my companion's chance remark most assuredly would.

“How easily you waltz!” she said enthusiastically, her sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks testifying to her keen enjoyment. “So many find me difficult to keep step with that I have become fearful of venturing upon the floor with a stranger. However, I shall always be glad to give you a character to any of my friends.”

“I sincerely thank you,” I returned in the same spirit, “and I can certainly return the compliment most heartily. It is so long since I was privileged to dance with a lady that I confess to having felt decidedly awkward at the start, but your step proved so accommodating that I became at once at home, and enjoyed the waltz immensely. I fail to discover any seats in the room, or I should endeavor to find one vacant for you.”

“Oh, I am not in the least tired.” She was looking at me with so deep an expression of interest in her eyes that I dimly wondered at it.

“Did I understand rightly,” she asked, playing idly with her fan, “that Major Monsoon introduced you to me as Colonel Curran of General Halleck's staff?”

What the deuce am I up against now? I thought, and my heart beat quickly. Yet retreat was impossible, and I answered with assumed carelessness:

“I am, most assuredly, Colonel Curran.”

“From Ohio?”

This was certainly coming after me with a vengeance, and I stole one quick glance at the girl's face. It was devoid of suspicion, merely evincing a polite interest.

“I have the honor of commanding the Sixth Artillery Regiment from that State.”

“You must pardon me, Colonel, for my seeming inquisitiveness,” and her eyes sparkled with demure mischief. “Yet I cannot quite understand. I was at school in Connecticut with a Miss Curran whose father was an officer of artillery from Ohio, and, naturally, I at once thought of her when the Major pronounced your name; yet it certainly cannot be you—you are altogether too young, for Myrtle must be eighteen.”

I laughed, decidedly relieved from what I feared might prove a most awkward situation.

“Well, yes, Miss Minor, I am indeed somewhat youthful to be Myrtle's father,” I said at a venture, “but I might serve as her brother, you know, and not stretch the point of age over-much.”

She clasped her hands on my arm with a gesture of delight.

“Oh, I am so glad; I knew Myrtle had a brother, but never heard he also was in the army. Did you know, Colonel, she was intending to come down here with me when I returned South, at the close of our school year, but from some cause was disappointed. How delighted she would have been to meet you! I shall certainly write and tell her what a splendidly romantic time we had together. You look so much like Myrtle I wonder I failed to recognize you at once.”

She was rattling on without affording me the slightest opportunity to slip in a word explanatory, when her glance chanced to fall upon some one who was approaching us through the throng.

“Oh, by the way, Colonel, there is another of Myrtle's old schoolmates present to-night—a most intimate friend, indeed, who would never forgive me if I permitted you to go without meeting her.”

She drew me back hastily.

“Edith,” she said, touching the sleeve of a young woman who was slowly passing, “Edith, wait just a moment, dear; this is Colonel Curran—Myrtle Curran's brother, you know. Colonel Curran, Mrs. Brennan.”

CHAPTER XVI. — THE WOMAN I LOVED

THE crucial moment had arrived, and I think my heart actually stopped beating as I stood gazing helplessly into her face. I saw her eyes open wide in astonished recognition, and then a deep flush swept over throat and cheek. For the instant I believed she would not speak, or that she would give way to her excitement and betray everything. I durst give no signal of warning, for there existed no tie between us to warrant my expecting any consideration from her. It was an instant so tense that her silence seemed like a blow. Yet it was only an instant. Then her eyes smiled into mine most frankly, and her hand was extended.

“I am more than delighted to meet you, Colonel Curran,” she said calmly, although I could feel her lips tremble to the words, while the fingers I held were like ice. “Myrtle was one of my dearest friends, and she chanced to be in my mind even as we met. That was why,” she added, turning toward Miss Minor, as though she felt her momentary agitation had not passed unobserved, “I was so surprised when you first presented Colonel Curran.”

“I confess to having felt strangely myself,” returned the other, archly, “although I believe I concealed my feelings far better than you did, Edith. Really, I thought you were going to faint. It must be that Colonel Curran exercises some strange occult influence over the weaker sex. Perhaps he is the seventh son of a seventh son; are you, Colonel? However, dear, I am safe for the present from his mysterious spell, and you will be compelled to face the danger alone, as here comes Lieutenant Hammersmith to claim the dance I've promised him.”

Before Mrs. Brennan could interfere, the laughing girl had placed her hand on the Lieutenant's blue sleeve, and, with a mocking good-bye flung backward over her shoulder, vanished in the crowd, leaving us standing there alone.

The lady waited in such apparent indifference, gently tapping the floor with her neatly shod foot, her eyes wandering carelessly over the throng in our front, that I felt utterly at sea. Evidently she had no intention of addressing me, yet I could not continue to stand there beside her in silence like a fool. That she possessed a pretty temper I already knew, but better a touch of that than this silent disdain.

“Would you be exceedingly angry if I were to ask you to dance?” I questioned, stealing surreptitiously a glance at her proudly averted face.

“Angry? Most assuredly not,” in apparent surprise. “Yet I trust you will not ask me. I have been upon the floor only once to-night. I am not at all in the mood.”

The words were not encouraging, yet they served to break the ice, and I was never easily daunted.

“If there were chairs here I should venture to ask even a greater favor—that you would consent to sit out this set with me.”

She turned slightly, lifted her eyes inquiringly to mine, and her face lightened.

“No doubt we might discover seats without difficulty, in the anteroom,” she answered, indicating the direction by a glance. “There do not appear to be many 'sitters-out' at this ball, and the few who do are not crowded.”

If the pendulum of hope and despair swings one way, the unalterable laws of mental gravitation compel it to go just as far the other, and although I do not remember uttering so much as a word while we traversed the crowded floor and gained entrance to the smaller room beyond, yet my heart was singing a song of the deepest hope. The apartment contained, as she prophesied, but few occupants, and I conducted her to the farther end of it, where we found a comfortable divan and no troublesome neighbors.

As I glanced at her now, I marked a distinct change in her face. The old indifference, so well assumed while we were in the presence of others, had utterly vanished as by magic, and she sat looking at me in anxious yet impetuous questioning.

“Captain Wayne,” she exclaimed, her eyes never once leaving my face, “what does this mean? this masquerade? this wearing of the Federal uniform? this taking of another's name? this being here at all?”

“If I should say that I came hoping to see you again,” I answered, scarce knowing how best to proceed or how far to put confidence in her, “what would you think?”

The color flamed quickly into her cheeks, but the clear eyes never faltered. They seemed to read my very soul.

“If that is true, that you were extremely foolish to take such a risk for so small a reward,” she returned calmly. “Nor, under these circumstances, would I remain here so much as a moment to encourage you. But it is not true. This is no light act; your very life must lie in the balance, or you could never assume such risk. Doubtless you hesitate to trust me fully, but I assure you you need not, for you have placed me under certain personal obligations which I have no desire to ignore. Captain Wayne, you are in trouble, in danger—will you not tell me all, and permit me to aid you by every means in my power?”

“I would trust you gladly with my life or my honor,” I replied soberly. “If I had less faith in you I should not be here now.”

She started slightly at the words, and for an instant her eyes fell. “Your life?” she questioned, “do you mean that is in the balance?”

“I understand that I am condemned to be shot as a spy at daybreak.”

“Shot? On what authority? Who told you?”

“On the order of General Sheridan. My informant was Lieutenant Caton, of his staff.”

“Shot? As a spy? Why, it surely cannot be! Frank said—Captain Wayne, believe me, I knew absolutely nothing of all this. Do not think I should ever have rested if I had dreamed that you were held under so false a charge. I promised you I would see General Sheridan on your behalf.”

“Yes,” I assented hastily, for her agitation was so great I feared it might attract the attention of others. “I remember you said so at the time of my arrest, but supposed you had either forgotten or had found your intercession fruitless.”

“Why, how you must have despised me! Forgotten?”—her eyes filled instantly with tears. “Not for an hour, Captain Wayne, but Frank—” she bit her lip impatiently—“I was told, that is, I was led to believe that you were—had been sent North as a prisoner of war late last night. Otherwise I should have insisted upon seeing you—on pleading your cause with the General himself. The Major and I breakfasted with him this morning, but your name was not mentioned, for I believed you safe.”

She did not appear to realize, so deep was her present indignation and regret, that my hand had found a resting-place upon her own.

“You must believe me, Captain Wayne; I could not bear to have you feel that I could prove such an ingrate.”

“You need never suppose I should think that,” I replied, with an earnestness of manner that caused her to glance at me in surprise. “I confidently expected to hear from you all day, and finally when no word came I became convinced some such misconception as you have mentioned must have occurred. Then it became my turn to act upon my own behalf if I would preserve my life; yet never for one moment have I doubted you or the sincerity of your pledge to me.”

She drew her hand away from my clasp, gently and not unkindly, then passed it through the masses of her dark, shining hair, but her face remained turned aside from me. Oh, how I longed at that moment to pour forth in fervent words the affection that burned within my heart! But irrespective of the doubt as to her being free to listen to such a declaration, there was a pride about her manner, a certain restraint which she ever seemed to exercise over me, that effectually sealed my lips. Her very presence was a moral tonic, and I felt it would be easier to tear out my tongue than to utter anything which she could construe into possible insult. The very depth of her perfect womanhood was itself protection, and, until the veil was finally lifted, my lips were vowed to silence.

She waited quietly while a couple passed us and sought seats nearer the door.

“Tell me the entire story,” she said gently.

As quickly as possible I reviewed the salient events which had occurred since our last meeting. Without denying the presence of Major Brennan during my stormy meeting with General Sheridan, I did not dwell upon it, nor mention the personal affray that had occurred between us. Even had I not supposed the man to be her husband I should never have taken advantage of his treachery to advance my own cause. God knows I have enough failings to account for, but I have never done my fighting in the dark. Neither did I speak of the information I now sought to bring to Lee, for her sympathy, her interest, her loyalty, were all with the opposing army. She followed my narrative eagerly, her eyes growing darker with intensity of interest as I depicted our eventful climb up the black chimney, and my venture down the stairs into the crowded ballroom. As I concluded there was a tear glistening on her long lashes, but she seemed unconscious of it, and made no attempt to dash it away.

“You have not told me all,” she commented quietly. “But I can understand and appreciate the reason for your silence. I know Frank's impetuosity, and you are very kind, Captain Wayne, to spare my feelings, but you must not remain here; every moment of delay increases your danger. Sheridan and those of his staff who would surely recognize you were expected back before this, and may appear at any moment—yet how can you get away? how is it possible for me to assist you?”

There was an eager anxiety in her face that piqued me. Like most lovers I chose to give it a wrong interpretation.

“You are anxious to be rid of me?” I asked, ashamed of the words even as I uttered them.

“That remark is unworthy of you,” and she arose to her feet almost haughtily. “My sole thought in this is the terrible risk you incur in remaining here.”

“Your interest then is personal to me, may I believe?”

“I am a loyal woman,” proudly, “and would do nothing whatever to imperil the cause of my country; but your condemnation is unjust, and I am, in a measure, responsible for it. I assist you, Captain Wayne, for your own sake, and in response to my individual sense of honor.”

God knows I could not speak, although my heart seemed bursting within my bosom. By sheer power of her will, her pride, her perfect womanhood, she held me from her as though a wall divided us. Not for an instant did she permit me to forget that she was the wife of another.

“Have you formulated any plan?” she asked quickly, and her rising color made me feel that she had deciphered my struggle in my eyes.

“Only to walk out under protection of this uniform, and when once safe in the open to trust that same good fortune which has thus far befriended me.”

She shook her head doubtfully, and stood a moment in silence, looking thoughtfully at the moving figures in the room beyond.

“I fear it cannot be done without arousing suspicion,” she said at last, slowly. “I chance to know there are unusual precautions being taken to-night, and the entire camp is doubly patrolled. Even this house has a cordon of guards about it, but for what reason I have not learned. No,” she spoke decisively, “there is no other way. Captain Wayne, I am going to try to save you to-night, but in doing so I must trust my reputation in your keeping.”

“I will protect it with my life.”

“Protect it with your silence, rather. I know you to be a gentleman, or I should never attempt to carry out the only means of escape which seems at all feasible. Discovery would place me in an extremely embarrassing position, and I must rely upon you to protect me from such a possibility.”

“I beg you,” I began, “do not compromise yourself in any way for my sake.”

“But I am myself already deeply involved in this,” she interrupted, “and I could retain no peace of mind were I to do otherwise. Now listen. Make your way back to the ballroom, and in fifteen minutes from now be engaged in conversation with General Carlton near the main entrance. I shall join you there, and you will take your cue from me. You understand?”

“Perfectly, but—”

“There is no 'but,' Captain Wayne, only do not fail me.”

Our eyes met for an instant; what she read in mine God knows—in hers was determination, with a daring strange to woman. The next moment she had vanished through a side door, and I was alone.

CHAPTER XVII. — THROUGH THE CAMP OF THE ENEMY

A GLANCE at my watch told me that it was already within a few moments of midnight. There was, however, no diminution in the festivities, and I waited in silence until I heard the sentries calling the hour, and then pressed my way back into the noisy, crowded ballroom. I was stopped twice by well-meaning officers whom I had met earlier in the evening, but breaking away from them after the exchange of a sentence or two, I urged my course as directly as possible toward where the spectacled brigadier yet held his post as master of ceremonies.

We had been conversing pleasantly for several minutes when Mrs. Brennan appeared. Standing so as to face the stairs, I saw her first coming down, and noted that she wore her hat, and had a light walking-cloak thrown over her shoulders. My heart beat faster as I realized for the first time that she intended to be my companion.

“Oh, General, I am exceedingly glad to find you yet here,” she exclaimed as she came up, and extended a neatly gloved hand to him. “I have a favor to ask which I am told you alone have the authority to grant.”

He bowed gallantly.

“I am very sure,” he returned smilingly, “that Mrs. Brennan will never request anything which I would not gladly yield.”

She flashed her eyes brightly into his face.

“Most assuredly not. The fact is, General, Colonel Curran, with whom I see you are already acquainted, was to pass the night at the Major's quarters, and as he has not yet returned, the duty has naturally devolved upon me to see our guest safely deposited. We are at the Mitchell House, you remember, which is beyond the inner lines; and while, of course, I have been furnished with a pass,” she held up the paper for his inspection, “and have been also instructed as to the countersign, I fear this will scarcely suffice for the safe passage of the Colonel.”

The General laughed good-humoredly, evidently pleased with her assumption of military knowledge.

“Colonel Curran is certainly to be congratulated upon having found so charming a guide, madam, and I can assure you I shall most gladly do my part toward the success of the expedition. The Major was expected back before this, I believe?”

“He left word that if he had not returned by twelve I was to wait for him no longer, as he should go directly to his quarters. I find the life of a soldier to be extremely uncertain.”

“We are our country's servants, madam,” he replied proudly, and then taking out a pad of blanks from his pocket, turned to me.

“May I ask your full name and rank, Colonel?”

“Patrick L. Curran, Colonel, Sixth Ohio Light Artillery.”

He wrote it down rapidly, tore off the paper, and handed it to me.

“That will take you safely through our inner guard lines,” he said gravely, “that being as far as my jurisdiction extends. Good-night, Colonel; good-night, Mrs. Brennan.”

She smiled her good-bye to him, and placed a gloved hand confidingly on my arm.

“I believe I recall the road and shall find no difficulty in guiding you,” she said. “At least we cannot go so very far astray.”

How cool and self-possessed she appeared—no hurry, no outward nervousness marred a single action. I felt my heart throb with new-born pride of her as I marked the marvellous self-control which characterized every movement, for I realized now that her risk in the adventure was scarcely second to my own. As I ventured life, she ventured honor, and I doubted not hers was the harder task of the two. Yet she gave no outward sign of struggle; as we crossed the crowded hall I could note no lack of resolution, no faltering of purpose in either step or voice.

At the door an officer spoke to her.

“Surely you are not leaving us so early, Mrs. Brennan?” he questioned anxiously. “Why, supper has not even been announced.”

I felt her hand close more tightly upon my arm.

“Unfortunately we must,” she replied, in a tone expressive of deep regret. “The Major was to go directly to his quarters if he was not here by midnight, and would surely worry were I still absent. Have you ever met my friend? Pardon me—Captain Burns, Colonel Curran.”

We bowed ceremoniously, and the next moment Mrs. Brennan and I were out upon the steps, breathing the cool night air. I glanced curiously at her face as the gleam of light fell upon it—how calm and reserved she appeared, and yet her eyes were aglow with intense excitement. At the foot of the steps she glanced up at the dark, projecting roof far above us.

“Do you suppose he can possibly be up there yet?” she asked, in a tone so low as to be inaudible to the ears of the sentry.

“Who? Bungay?” I questioned in surprise, for my thoughts were elsewhere. “Oh, he was like a cat, and there are trees at the rear. Probably he is safe long ago, or else a prisoner once more.”

Beyond the gleam of the uncovered windows all was wrapped in complete darkness, save that here and there we could distinguish the dull red glare of camp-fires where the company cooks were yet at work, or some sentry post had been established. All the varied sounds of a congested camp at night were in the air—the champing and pounding of horses, the murmur of men's voices, the distant rumbling of heavy wagons, with an occasional shout, and the noise of axes. It was also evident, from the numerous flitting lanterns, like so many glow-worms, the late labors of the cooks, and other unmistakable signs, that active preparations for an early movement were already well under way.

We turned sharply to the left, and proceeded down a comparatively smooth road, which seemed to me to possess a rock basis, it felt so hard. From the position of the stars I judged our course to be eastward, but the night was sufficiently obscured to shroud all objects more than a few yards distant. Except for the varied camp noises on either side of us the evening was oppressively still, and the air had the late chill of high altitudes. Mrs. Brennan pressed more closely to me as we passed beyond the narrow zone of light, and unconsciously we fell into step together.

“Are you chilled?” I asked, bending my head toward her.

“Not in the least; but I must confess to nervousness.”

I think we both recalled my wrapping her in the flapping cavalry cloak the night we were first alone together, for she added quickly: “I am quite warmly clothed, and have not far to go.”

One often receives certain impressions without in the least knowing by what means they are conveyed—some peculiar trick of tone or manner teaching a lesson the lips refrain from expressing. Some such influence now, unconsciously exerted possibly, made me feel that my companion preferred to remain silent; that I could best prove my respect for her by quietly accepting her guidance without attempting converse. We walked slowly so as not to attract attention, as it was impossible to say that we were unobserved. Once she slipped upon a stone and I caught her, but neither spoke. Then there came the sudden clatter of hoofs on the rocky road behind us. I drew her swiftly aside within the protecting shadow of a tree, while a mounted officer rode by us at a slashing gait, his cavalry cape pulled high over his head, and the iron shoes of his horse striking fire from the flinty rocks. I could feel the heart of the girl beating wildly against my arm, but without exchanging so much as a word we crept back into the dark road and pressed on.

A few hundred yards farther a fire burned redly against a pile of logs. The forms of several men lay outstretched beside it, while a sentry paced back and forth, in and out of the range of light. We were almost upon him before he noted our approach, and in his haste he swung his musket down from his shoulder until the point of its bayonet nearly touched my breast.

“Halt!” he cried sternly, peering at us in evident surprise. “Halt! this road is closed.”

“Valley Forge,” whispered the girl, and I noticed how white her face appeared in the flaming of the fire.

My Lady of the North

MY LADY OF THE NORTH

The Love Story of a Gray Jacket

By Randall Parrish

MY LADY OF THE NORTH

The Love Story of a Gray-Jacket

CHAPTER I. — A DESPATCH FOR LONGSTREET

CHAPTER II. — THE NIGHT RIDE

CHAPTER III. — AN UNWELCOME GUEST

CHAPTER IV. — A WOMAN WITH A TEMPER

CHAPTER V. — A DISASTER ON THE ROAD

CHAPTER VI. — A STRUGGLE IN THE DARK

CHAPTER VII. — A DISCIPLE OF SIR WALTER

CHAPTER VIII. — MRS. BUNGAY DEFENDS HER HEARTHSTONE

CHAPTER IX. — IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY

CHAPTER X. — A WOMAN'S TENDERNESS

CHAPTER XI. — IN THE PRESENCE OF SHERIDAN

CHAPTER XII. — UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH

CHAPTER XIII. — A STRANGE WAY OUT

CHAPTER XIV. — I BECOME A COLONEL OF ARTILLERY

CHAPTER XV. — AT THE STAFF OFFICERS' BALL

CHAPTER XVI. — THE WOMAN I LOVED

CHAPTER XVII. — THROUGH THE CAMP OF THE ENEMY