The Union army lay impatiently waiting until the plans of the leader of the Rebel troops could be fathomed. His designs were shrouded in so much mystery that the anxious watchers could not determine whether the invasion of Maryland was only a feint to draw off the Union troops from the points they were protecting, or whether he really aimed to attack the Northern cities.

It seemed absolutely impossible to obtain authentic information. The stories brought in by the stragglers and prisoners were wild and improbable in the extreme. To have believed them would have been to have believed that the enemy had the power of marching in a dozen different directions at one and the same time, for each story gave the enemy a different starting point, and a different aim and purpose to their movements.

Of the scouts who had been sent out to all points, many had been taken prisoner, or had met a speedy death. In spite of their untiring and daring efforts to obtain reliable information, the reports brought back by the few who did return were so unsatisfactory and contradictory that no dependence could be placed in them, for seemingly none of the soldiers and few, if any, of the officers of the invading army knew where they were going or for what.

At the headquarters of General Foster, which that first week of September, '62, were located in an open meadow, half a dozen officers were gathered in a low-voiced consultation. Their faces were grave and marked with lines of anxious thought, as they poured over maps and compared conflicting dispatches. A young officer, Captain Guilfoyle, who sat writing at a table made up of rough boards, joined in the conversation only when questioned by his superior officers, regarding some point in the topography of the country, which could not be determined from the imperfect maps they studied.

An hour later all excepting the young officer had left the tent. Stopping only to light a candle as it grew too dark to see, he wrote steadily on until his work was finished and the papers lay folded on the table. He arranged them ready for inspection, then rose and walked back and forth across the narrow limits of the tent to stretch his tired muscles. At last, with an impatient sigh, he seated himself again and after waiting a moment drew from his pocket a long narrow book. It fell apart, as if accustomed to being opened at one particular page, and the light from the candle shone over a thick, long curl of fair hair, which might have been cut from the head bending over it, so exactly the same was the color. At the sound of approaching footsteps and voices outside the tent he hastily returned the book to his pocket.

Some one was asking for General Foster. The next moment a man dressed like a teamster entered. His clothes were ragged and dirty. One arm was wrapped around with a piece of blood stained cloth and hung limp and useless at his side. His face was pale under the wide brim of his torn hat, and the blood had trickled down one side from a fresh wound in his forehead, making a wide mark along his cheek. The man showed his utter exhaustion in every movement, and staggered from side to side as he went across the tent and dropped half fainting onto a stool.

Captain Guilfoyle took a flask from off the bed and held it to the man's lips, eyeing him closely, until recovering somewhat, he straightened up and removed the hat which partly shaded his face. As he did so the Captain recognized him as one of the scouts whose return they were anxiously hoping would bring them the sorely needed intelligence and whose report General Foster had ordered him to receive if he got in during his absence.

"Yes, I'm here at last," replied the man to Captain Guilfoyle's hurried interrogation, "and I've nothing to report but a total lack of success."

"I left poor Dedrick and Allison over there, and barely succeeded in getting back myself. You know what they were,—the best scouts in the whole army. We did all men could do, but luck was against us. We have learned nothing except that the enemy are across the Potomac, something any straggler can tell. I have been four days getting back," said the new comer, going on to give a full account of what he and his companions had tried to do. "I tell you," he added wearily, "I doubt if any one can find out what they mean to do until they do it, for I don't believe they know themselves. They are——." There the low voice stopped abruptly and the speaker's head sank until it touched the table.

Calling in an orderly waiting outside, the officer applied restoratives, and as soon as consciousness returned the sufferer was helped away to a place where his wounds could receive much-needed attention.

Captain Guilfoyle returned to his seat by the table to await General Foster's return. After noting down some items in a well worn dispatch book, he leaned his head on his hand and gave himself to deep and serious thought, until, finally, a look of grim determination settled on his smooth, boyish face.

When the General returned, Captain Guilfoyle rose to report his work finished. "McClandish has come in without any news of importance; the two scouts with him were killed and he is badly wounded," he reported further, after receiving orders relating to the disposition of the papers he had copied.

The grave, anxious look that settled over General Foster's face as he listened, showed how he regarded the failure of an undertaking from which so much had been hoped. In obedience to a word from his superior, the young officer went on to give a full account of all he had learned from McClandish. When he had finished he made a moment's pause, then added quickly, leaning forward and speaking almost in a whisper, "If you will allow me to go, I believe I can bring full and reliable information of the strength of the enemy's forces and of his plans and intentions."

The General stopped his rapid pacing across the tent and looked keenly at the slim, boyish figure standing before him. "If you could: if we knew the strength of the Rebel forces and where they mean to strike, worn out and demoralized as our troops are, we could surely intercept them and turn them back," he said.

"I can try," replied Captain Guilfoyle.

"You know the fate of the most of the men who have gone," said the General gravely.

"But it may not be mine," returned the younger officer.

"McClandish is one of our best lieutenants and the two scouts with him were old, both in experience and training. How can you succeed where they and all the others have failed?" added General Foster after a long pause.

"I believe I can do it."

"How?"

"If you will accept my services and see that my destination is kept secret, and that I shall never be required to tell how I gain any information I bring back, I will be back at the earliest possible moment and I trust with a full knowledge of what the enemy mean to do," replied Captain Guilfoyle firmly. "I only ask that no person except yourself shall know for what I have gone. Send me instead of Freeland to Washington with these dispatches. Let it be known I have gone there, but after I have delivered them let me follow my own plan. I cannot tell just how long I must be away, but you may be assured not one day, not one hour longer than necessary."

A low, earnest conversation followed, which ended in General Foster accepting the offer of his young aid.