Mrs. May dismissed Sam almost immediately, saying a word of her appreciation, but also insisting that his proposal was out of the question.

“Whatever happens, Sam,” she told him, “your home will be here. If you get your freedom, then you can stay or go as you like; but we shall always be glad to have our people stay. Now go back to your work and say no more about being sold.”

The moment the boy was gone April turned to Tracy.

“Val,” she demanded, her face white and drawn, “can it be possible that Lee has surrendered?”

“Yes,” he answered reluctantly. “It is possible. We had word of a battle at Five Forks and, if we’ve lost it, I don’t see what else General Lee could do. I’m afraid Sam’s news is true, but we shall know for certain very shortly.”

“Then the war will soon be ended,” Mrs. May said prayerfully.

April raised her head as if to speak, her eyes flashing angrily; but her white lips trembled and of a sudden she left them.

With the arrival of the train to Washington all doubt of the events that had taken place at Richmond were put at rest. Lee had surrendered and Jefferson Davis was in flight. The Confederacy was breaking fast.

After supper that night Dorothea, looking out of her window, saw April and Val Tracy walking together on the lawn, deep in earnest conversation.

“It is little wonder he is in love with her,” she thought, and turned away with just the faintest of sighs. Possibly she did not know that she sighed.

But in thinking that their conversation had anything to do with love, Dorothea was very much mistaken.

“The grapevine telegraph doesn’t carry all the news,” Val was saying to April in a half whisper.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked.

“It isn’t all over yet,” he went on, glancing about to make sure he was not overheard. “We have a shot left in our locker that may surprise the Yanks.”

“Tell me, Val,” she demanded eagerly.

“There’s an expedition planned against the Union forces at Savannah,” he went on in an undertone. “But it’s very secret and there are only a few of us who know it. If it is successful it may have a greater influence than you would believe. The North is tired of the war and the South will be discouraged over this bad news of Lee. But if we capture Savannah again we shall find the Confederacy ready to fight on and the Union ready to come to some compromise. If not, we shall organize in Texas and continue the war.”

“But can you get the men, Val?” April asked, the color coming back into her face. “Oh, it would be glorious if we could strike another blow. And it might make all the difference. Can you do it, do you think?”

“We can, if the secret is kept,” he replied gravely. “With the Yankees unprepared we can beat them. We are gathering men from all over the State. Volunteers, and what troops we can find, and we are sending them to a rendezvous. But all must be done sub rosa. Even our officers are not aware of what’s afoot. The Yanks must be taken by surprise, and if they are, the city will be ours. So you see the importance of letting as few know of it as possible. If we succeed in surprising them we’ll drive every Yankee out of the State.”

“You’ll do it, Val, I feel sure of it,” April whispered enthusiastically. “No one will betray you and it will put new heart into the South.”

“Exactly!” Val replied. “It’s a fine plan. We know what the Yankees are doing and they don’t know anything of our movements. They think. Georgia hasn’t any soldiers, but they’ll find out differently. But be careful, April. Don’t breathe a word of it even in your sleep. Faith, I suppose I shouldn’t have told you, but you were so upset over this bad news I just couldn’t help giving you something to hope for. I trust we shall succeed. In fact I know we shall, if the secret is kept.”

“Then, Val,” April said, dropping her voice, “be careful what you say around here.”

“Oh, there’s nobody in the family who would betray us,” he answered lightly.

“Don’t be too sure of that,” she returned.

“Whom do you mean, April?” he questioned.

“I am not sure, but—” She hesitated. “No, I don’t want to do any one an injustice. I may be mistaken, but I am on the watch. Under any circumstances don’t breathe a word of your plans to another living soul. Promise, Val.”

“Faith, I promise with all my heart,” he answered. “I hadn’t any intention of even telling you.”

“How long will you be here?” she asked a moment later.

“Till I get orders to move,” he replied. “A day or so at most. In the meantime I shall be out, looking for horses and getting together any men that I can find.”

Dorothea noticed that April’s eyes were sparkling as they had not sparkled for a long time when she came into the room after her stroll upon the lawn with Val Tracy. And this brought another thought to plague the girl. Could it be that April was fond of Val? That, in spite of all she had heard, it was this young Irishman her cousin really cared for and not Lee Hendon?

“I can easily understand how she might,” she said to herself.

Nor was Dorothea the only one in the room to notice the difference in April’s spirits and to find a possible cause for it. Miss Imogene, her bright eyes taking in all that went on about her, watched the girl for a moment and then shook her head.

“It would be too bad,” she thought enigmatically.

It was Dorothea April had in mind when she warned Tracy that there might be one in the family who would betray his secret. Her conviction of the rightfulness of the Confederate cause made it impossible, at times, for her not to be swayed by her prejudices. Almost from the day of Dorothea’s arrival she had harbored a suspicion of her cousin’s purpose in visiting them. From the moment she earned that a band of Northern sympathizers were actually at work in the South she could not forget that Dorothea wore a red band of velvet around her wrist. She was never without it, and once having seized upon the idea, April was constantly on the lookout for some other evidence that would connect her cousin directly with the “Red Strings.”

There was nothing in the girl’s actions to confirm these suspicions save the wearing of that red band about her wrist. The fact that a prisoner escaped from Andersonville had passed their way was no matter for surprise. Such escapes were frequent, and no particular importance could be attached to that event. In addition she had a genuine liking for Dorothea. In the year that had passed since her cousin had come to visit them there were times when she had entirely forgotten the doubt that haunted her. It was so vague and so improbable that she was rather ashamed of her lack of trust and had been careful to tell no one of it. She appreciated that Dorothea had not the same intense love for the Confederate cause that she had, but she was also too sensible a person to expect it. Indeed she wanted to be fair, but her suspicion persisted and the most careless act which held a shadow of suggestion that could strengthen this belief her mind fastened on tenaciously. And, as the fortunes of the Confederacy became more and more desperate, April, with nerves at tension, was ready to distort any innocent action into some evidence of treachery.

Early in the year something had happened to again fasten her suspicions upon Dorothea. She did not remember long what this had been, but every day she had watched for confirmation of her growing conviction. She was no longer able to conceal what she felt and so took the precaution to avoid being alone with her cousin lest she betray her feelings. So certain had she become that she was right that she determined to have absolute proof before she made any accusations either to the girl herself or to her mother. And so, day by day, she kept her own council; but there was scarcely a time in her waking hours that she was not entirely aware of where Dorothea was and what she did.

And yet when the moment came for her to find confirmation of her worst suspicions, she was shocked. Her walk through the woods the day before had been taken without thought of Dorothea and she had come across her cousin quite unexpectedly. But she had seen a man disappear into the bushes and was sure that he wore a dark blue uniform.

April’s first impulse had been to accuse the girl then and there, but her sense of justice held her back. Perhaps Dorothea would offer voluntary explanation, though she did not think this a possibility. Once having resisted the natural impulse to speak out, she had time to consider the situation more calmly, and concluded that she would lose nothing by waiting, and perhaps might gain much. If the man she had seen was a Union spy, and she began firmly to believe that he was, to capture him would be a service for the cause and a complete case against Dorothea. Moreover, in order to do this, she must not let her cousin have the faintest idea that she was suspected. She argued that her arrival upon the scene in the woods had interrupted an interview that in all likelihood would be renewed at the first opportunity, and April meant to be there and catch them red-handed.

Next morning, therefore, when she saw her cousin leave the house dressed for a walk, April seized a hat to follow, thinking at first that the trail would lead to Coulter Woods. It was obvious at once that Dorothea had no intention of going in that direction but was bending her steps to the village, and she changed her plans. Plainly Dorothea had no intention then of meeting the Federal soldier; but April felt that her cousin’s errand was of importance and that she must know what it was.

In the streets of so small a village it would be wellnigh impossible to spy upon her undetected. She was especially anxious now that Dorothea should not have the slightest inkling of the fact that she was being observed, and to meet April in town, on foot, would be unusual enough to cause comment. Some thought of sending her maid, Merry, occurred to April, but she shook her head, feeling that it was impossible to have a servant spy upon her cousin. Whatever was to be done she must do herself.

Turning into the house she ran upstairs, picking up, as she went, a pair of battered field-glasses that hung on the wall near the hall-stand. Then she went directly to the garret and dropped to her knees on the floor beside the moon-shaped window at one end. The glass was gray with dust, but her handkerchief was not the filmy bit of linen and lace it would have been some years before and she did not hesitate to use it upon one of the small panes. Next she adjusted her glasses and looked into the principal street of the town, where she could distinguish clearly all who passed.

This was no new game for April. As a child she had often watched from this garret to see what was going on, and she had no difficulty now in picking out the various buildings. The Court House was the most prominent, and she thought of the day when Secession was declared and the “Bonny blue flag” made by Miss Fanny Andrews had been raised over it. She commanded a full view of the business portion of the town, but she had time to wonder if Judge Andrews, sturdily loyal to the Union, had ever learned of his daughter’s part in the wild enthusiasm that had gone on while he sat behind darkened windows, before Dorothea walked across the square, putting a stop to all such memories.

“She may be going to call upon Mrs. Robertson,” April thought, and then, a moment later, “Oh, how stupid of me. Of course he would need money!”

She had seen her cousin walk purposefully into the bank, and her conclusions were natural. There was no further need to spy just then. It would be Dorothea’s next adventure that would be important. April put her glasses in their case and, slipping downstairs, hung them in their place. Thereafter she kept out of sight, feeling certain that Dorothea would do nothing more until after dinner.

Later that morning she went into the parlor upon some errand, and the sound of low-pitched voices coming from the porch, reached her.

“—and if this expedition against Savannah—” Dorothea was saying when Miss Imogene had interrupted her, with a decided “Hush!”

For April the words held a world of significance, and instinctively she turned and tiptoed away.

Evidently her cousin knew all about the expedition to capture Savannah, and was doing her best to thwart the efforts of the Southern leaders. That was why she was in communication with a Union spy. He was to warn the Federal forces that they were to be attacked. She was preparing to furnish him money and information, using her relationship with them and taking advantage of their hospitality to betray their cause. In her heart April’s anger grew hot at the thought. There was no longer any doubt in her mind about Dorothea’s treachery. She would have denounced her cousin then and there, but now she appreciated that more than this was involved. It had been something of a personal affair heretofore. She had only had a desire to prove her cousin a Northern sympathizer. Now, however, the situation assumed a more serious aspect. If the spy escaped to tell the plans of the attack on Savannah, all the hopes in which she had indulged would be shattered. Therefore she must step carefully and conceal her anger against Dorothea for the sake of capturing the spy. That was the most important object for the time being. What should be done about her cousin’s activities in the Northern interests could come later.

“But how did she hear of it?” April suddenly questioned herself. And an answer popped into her head almost simultaneously. Val was the only one who knew of it. Who else could have told her? And moreover April, wise in the affairs of the heart, guessed that the gay Irish Captain had been more than a little attracted by this handsome English girl who had come among them. Pretty speeches he made to every one, but she had noted again and again the thoughtful way in which his eyes followed Dorothea whenever she was in sight. She remembered that he spoke of her cousin, not in the exaggerated, complimentary way that was his habit, but gently, with words that seemed to come from a sincere reeling. She had anticipated that one day there might be a love affair between them, and she was not one of the selfish beauties who resented any man’s attention to another. She liked Val Tracy, as she did twenty other young fellows who paid their court to her, but she felt no spark of jealousy on Dorothea’s account.

It was not unnatural then that she should jump to the conclusion that Val, trusting the girl, had told her what was afoot, and that Dorothea had been quick to make use of it to warn the Yankees. Val had returned from one of his expeditions but she had no chance to speak to him until after dinner; then she led him out on to the lawn where they could talk in the certainty of not being overheard, but she had seen Dorothea go up to her room and took pains to make sure that she could not leave the house unobserved.

“Now what good deed have I done that I should be thus rewarded?” asked Tracy when he and April were alone.

“It isn’t a time for pretty speeches, Val,” she answered. “The Yankees are going to be warned of our plans to take Savannah!”

He looked at her in amazement for a moment, without speaking, as if he could not believe his ears.

“It’s impossible, April,” he answered. “There aren’t half a dozen people in the world know of it. And two of them are right here. We haven’t even told our officers. It’s impossible!”

“No, it isn’t, Val,” she answered. “Some one else knows. Some one right here. One of the family, and we are about to be betrayed. It may already be too late, but I hope not.”

“Who is it?” demanded Tracy shortly.

“Dorothea,” April answered, and looked keenly at him, expecting to read in his face a confirmation of her conclusion that he had told her cousin of the plan.

But Tracy showed nothing of that sort. Instead, he laughed lightly as if his mind had been eased of a burden.

“That’s out of the question, April,” he replied. “Dorothea wouldn’t betray any one. I’ll stake my life on that. I don’t know what notion you have in your head, but there’s a mistake somewhere.”

“Listen, Val,” April began earnestly, and then told him exactly what she had seen and what her suspicions were.

Undoubtedly Tracy was impressed by the story. No one listening to the intense way in which April spoke could doubt that she firmly believed what she said.

“Are you certain you saw a Union man?” Tracy asked, as if it was hard to believe.

“There is not the slightest doubt of it, Val,” she replied.

“Well, then, whatever the explanation of her meeting him may be, he must be taken.” Tracy had made up his mind at once who this mysterious person was. Once before he had taken a hand in helping to free a Federal officer, but then it was an escaped prisoner from Andersonville and, for the sake of a sentiment he held, he had closed his eyes to his duty. That he could not do again. Now a matter of vital importance to the cause for which he fought was at stake. He was not one to be indifferent to his oath of allegiance. He had his own notion of the meaning of this meeting, but he could not run the risk of its being nothing but a love affair.

“So you see, Val,” April remarked, “we must follow Dorothea and capture the fellow.”

“Yes,” he answered with a shade of reluctance in his voice. “Yes, that we must do. Or I must.”

“I am going with you,” April insisted. “I want to do something myself. Oh, if I were only a man.”

“Faith, and I’m glad you’re not,” Tracy replied, “but ye shall come if ye want to. If there’s any shooting to be done I’ll do it, I promise you. But I hate sneaking up behind a girl. Ye’ll be giving me countenance, for to tell you the truth I don’t like warring on women.”

“It isn’t that, Val,” she assured him. “As far as Dorothea is concerned, you can leave her to me.”

“That’s just what I don’t want to do,” he replied. “You females haven’t much pity for each other, you know.”

“Why should I have any pity for one who has come into our house to play the spy?” demanded April.

“Wait, my dear, till you’re sure,” Tracy answered. “I’ll go bail she isn’t betraying anybody; but we must see for ourselves.”

“Very well,” April answered, “and now we must go away from here. She is probably watching us from her window, and so long as we are in sight she won’t move. We must give her a chance to get away unobserved—as she will think. You’d better go off to the stables. I’ll run up to my room and let you know when she has gone.”

Tracy nodded and went off. He didn’t like the business, but it had to be gone through with.

“I wish April could have found some one else to help her,” he murmured, as he turned the corner of the house. “It’s a mean game, this, interfering with a love affair. But wars no respecter of conventions. And she’ll hate me for it, bad luck to it!”