“Your father?” cried Jeanne, in amazement. “Is Colonel Peyton your father?”

The young man bowed in assent.

“And he condemns you to death?” went on the girl, a horrified expression on her face. “How could he do such a thing? Oh, how could he?”

“By George,” broke from one of the Confederates. “This is a pretty mess! Boys, the old man has sentenced his own son to death as a spy.”

The soldiers crowded about the prisoner. Jeanne drew close to him and laid her hand pityingly upon his arm.

“I will tell Bob,” she said. “Perhaps she can persuade your father not to do this monstrous thing.”

“Bob! Is Bob here?” The Lieutenant looked up eagerly and then shook his head. “No,” he said, “she must not know. It would break her heart. After all what has he done but what is just? Had it been any other Federal we would commend him for doing his duty. He could not do other than he has done. But say nothing to Bob. Add this to your other kindness, Miss Jeanne. And, as this will probably be the last opportunity I shall ever have, let me thank you also for sending me to your home.”

“Then you really went there,” cried Jeanne. “You saw my father and my mother? How did they look? Were they well? When did you leave them? Oh, Lieutenant Peyton, do tell me all about them.”

“They are all well, or were when I left them which was two months ago. They were as kind to me as if I had been their own son. I shall never forget them. But they were worried because they had not heard from you. After you left Memphis no word came to them. Child, why do you treat such parents so? Why are you here in place of being at home? It is wrong to subject them to so much uneasiness. They cannot think what has happened to you?”

“But I have written,” cried Jeanne, tearfully. “And I want to get home. I don’t want to stay here one bit. I want––”“Men, why do you dally here with your prisoner?” came in stern tones from Colonel Peyton who had approached the group unobserved. “I desire that no further communication be allowed between this man and that girl. Are they not both Federals?”

“Being as he was your son, Colonel,” said the leader, saluting, “we thought––”

“Your business is to obey orders, not to think,” interrupted the officer brusquely. “He is no son of mine. My son died to me long ago.”

“Dad,” cried the cheery voice of Bob as she came toward him. “They say that you have caught a spy. Where is he? Why––” Her gaze fell upon the prisoner and she stopped short. “Frank,” she cried, shrilly, “it’s Frank! Oh, dad, what does it mean?”

“It means,” said the Colonel, trying to draw her away, “that you have no brother, Bob. This man is nothing to you. He is a spy and as such dies at sunrise.”

“At sunrise!” shrieked Bob. “No, no!”

“Away with that fellow,” ordered the Colonel, harshly. “And mind! I shall hold each one of you personally responsible for his safety. Bob,” as the soldiers bore his son away, “you are under arrest. Go to your quarters and stay there until I release you. And you also,” to Jeanne.

“You have no right to arrest me, Colonel Peyton,” said Jeanne coldly. “I refuse to obey any man who sentences his own son to death.”

“You refuse to obey me?” cried the Colonel, loth to believe his ears. “Me?”

“Yes, sir, you. I do not consider myself under arrest. You have no right to put me there. I am neither your daughter nor your slave,” and Jeanne put her arm around Bob and faced him defiantly.

“There are ways of enforcing obedience, young lady,” said the Colonel. “Bob, to your quarters.”

“But, dad,––”

“To your quarters,” commanded her father sternly. “Johnson,” to a soldier, “see that these girls are well-guarded until I give other orders.”

And so it came about that a guard was placed about their tent and the girls found themselves as closely watched as if they were indeed prisoners. In the afternoon as they sat disconsolately together a confusion without told that something unusual was going on. Jeanne went to the aperture in the front of the tent and looked out.

“What is it?” she asked of the sentry.

“Our men coming back,” was the answer. “They have a number of prisoners and have captured some fine horses.”

Jeanne reported the news to Bob, but she received it apathetically. So overcome by grief was she that she appeared to no longer care for anything.

“Bob,” said Jeanne suddenly, “can’t we do something to help your brother?”

“I am afraid not,” answered Bob in heartbroken accents. “What can we do? We are only girls. What can we do?”

“Well, we can make an effort. I will never forgive myself if I don’t do something for him.”

“Why should you care?” asked Bob listlessly. “He is not your brother.”

“No, Bob, he isn’t. But he is one of our officers, and I intend to help him get away. It would be an awful thing for him to die by the hand of his father.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Bob looking at her with a gleam of interest.“I don’t know. I have been thinking all day and I don’t know,” said Jeanne. “But we must do something. I did not think that your father could be so cruel.”

“He is doing his duty,” said Bob with pale lips. “Poor dad! Jeanne, you think him hard-hearted, but I know that this will kill him. Poor, poor dad!”

“Then if he cares why does he condemn his son to death?” asked Jeanne in surprise.

“Because he came here as a spy, and dad could not overlook that fact even if he is his son. Dad must regard Frank as a Federal, Jeanne. He is bound to as a Confederate officer.”

“But you are not bound. Surely you are not going to let your brother die without trying to save him?”

“Dad will never forgive me,” said Bob weakly. “And yet I can’t let Frank die.”

“Of course not,” answered Jeanne. “Now, Bob, let’s think hard. Maybe between us we can get some plan.”

But the time passed, and darkness found them still with no plan matured.

“We will save our rations,” said Bob as their supper was handed in to them. “Frank ought to have them to take with him if he succeeds in escaping. If he doesn’t we won’t care to eat.”

So they carefully put up the food into a small package, and again fell to discussing ways and means for the escape of Lieutenant Peyton.

“Bob,” exclaimed Jeanne presently, “do you know that I have not heard the guard patrol our tent for a long time?”

Bob listened intently, and then sprang to her feet.

“It’s true,” she exclaimed excitedly. “I wonder what the reason is?”

They ran to the door of the tent and peered out cautiously. There seemed to be a commotion of some kind in camp. Men were hurrying to and fro; bayonets rattled, and the subdued murmur of many voices plainly told that an unusual movement was on foot. The girls looked on breathlessly and presently they heard the order given for the men to fall in line. Then “Forward, March!” came the command and the ranks filed out of the camp on the double quick, the Colonel at their head.

“Something’s up,” said Bob with conviction. “Let’s go down to where the prisoners are, Jeanne, and see how the land lies. Then maybe we will know what to do.”

Silently Jeanne signified her assent and the two stole quietly through the long rows of tents to where the prisoners were.

“There is but one guard,” whispered Bob in delight. “See, Jeanne! Frank lies the closest to the fire. He is bound too, hand and foot.”

“I see,” whispered Jeanne. “Let’s get closer, Bob.”

Cautiously they approached nearer to the men. Presently Jeanne uttered an exclamation and stopped stock still.

“What is it?” asked Bob quickly. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“Bob,” whispered Jeanne in great agitation, “do you see that young fellow just beyond Frank? The one with the yellow hair, I mean.”

“Yes, Jeanne. Why?”

“That is my brother Dick. They shan’t have Dick, Bob. Not if I had to face the whole Confederate army myself.”

“Jeanne, is it truly Dick? Aren’t you mistaken? Maybe it’s only some one who looks like him.”“It’s Dick,” said Jeanne positively. “Watch him. He will know my voice.” Regardless of caution she began singing softly the then popular melody:

“‘Will you come with me, my Phillis dear,

To yon blue mountain free,

Where the blossoms smell the sweetest,

Come rove along with me.

It’s every Sunday morning,

When I am by your side,

We’ll jump into the wagon,

And all take a ride.’”