Aun' Jinkey gained Miss Lou's room in safety, but panting so from fright and exhaustion as to be for a few moments utterly incapable of speech. The girl divined that something serious was to be told. To her questioning look, the old mammy nodded, glancing meantime at Zany as much as to say, "We should be alone." This quick-witted negress, consumed with curiosity about Chunk, and some deeper interest, resolved not to be sent away.

"Why you look dat away at Miss Lou, Aun' Jinkey?" Zany asked indignantly. "Time you knowed dat Miss Lou trus' me en I ain' doin' not'n ter loss dat trus'. She know bettah'n you dat ef dars eny ting ter be done I de one ter he'p."

"We can trust Zany," whispered Miss Lou, who had become very pale. "You have some news about Lieutenant Scoville?"

"Well, on'y dis, honey, Chunk lookin' fer 'im. Marse Scoville didn't come back fum dat las' fight, he say, en he say ter me dat ef he toot twiced lak a squinch-owl dat mean I go ter you, fer he need yo' he'p. He des done tooted," and Aun' Jinkey repeated all of her grandson's words as far as she could remember them.

Miss Lou thought a few moments and her face grew very resolute. "Aun' Jinkey," she said, "tell Chunk I will do as he wishes, but he must act carefully and not too hastily. Cousin Mad is already asleep. One after another will follow his example, and fewer will be around by and by. We must take no risks that can be helped. The fact that he wishes to see me in this secret way is pretty good proof that the lieutenant is a prisoner. If he were wounded or—or—" but a rush of tears suggested the word she could not utter. "You had better go now, and let no one frighten you into telling anything. Appeal to me if threatened."

As the old woman was stealing out she met Mrs. Baron, who asked sharply, "What do you want?"

"Does you tink I doan wanter know dat chile is safe?"

"If you wish to be safe yourself, see to it you have nothing more to do with that grandson of yours. He has sinned away HIS day of grace, and no mercy will be shown to those who have anything more to do with him."

"I years you, misus," said Aun' Jinkey, stolidly continuing on her way.

Miss Lou, who had followed her mammy to the head of the stairs, heard this warning and returned to her room with a stern look. She deemed it best to say nothing and give the impression that she could not endure the sights and sounds below stairs.

Mrs. Whately entered soon afterward and did her best to propitiate her niece. Miss Lou pretended to be very weary and was glad to see that her aunt actually was so. At last the matron said, "Well, I'll go down once more and see if there is anything which I must attend to; then I shall try to rest a little while Madison is sleeping. Such experiences as we've had wear one out fast. I advise you, too, my dear, to sleep when you can."

"Yes, aunt, I suppose you are right. So much may happen to-morrow."

Mrs. Whately soon retired, and Miss Lou, listening at her door a moment, knew that she was sleeping. Then she returned to her own room, blew out her candle, opened the window softly and waited for Chunk. "Zany," she said, "sit in the dark there, and do not speak or let Chunk know you are here, unless permitted."

Along the most secluded end of the house the piazza had not been built, a small lean-to extension taking its place. An apartment was thus formed which could be entered from without as well as from within the dwelling, and here Mr. Baron maintained what was at once a business office and a study. This extension was but one story high, with a roof which sloped to rising ground beyond. Chunk knew that he could easily gain this roof, and from it that of the front piazza also. When returning through the garden Aun' Jinkey had whispered to him not to make the attempt to see Miss Lou until her light was extinguished. Then she added the words that Mrs. Baron had just spoken to her and hastened tremblingly to her own chimney-corner. Chunk made a wide circle, approaching the house again at an angle which would give him a view of Miss Lou's window, and watching till it darkened. From the garden he had carried a small, light ladder which he had used when pruning fruit-trees. He stole near the extension warily, the shrubbery growing in that vicinity favoring his effort, and the heavy pall of clouds obscuring almost entirely the mild radiance of the moon.

Satisfied by a careful reconnoissance that no one was watching or stirring at that end of the house, with the stealth and agility of a cat he went from roof to roof and crawled to Miss Lou's window.

"Chunk," she whispered.

"Dat's me, mistis."

"You're a good, brave fellow. Now tell me quick—don't waste a word —where is Lieutenant Scoville?"

"He's wid de pris'ners, en Perkins en sogers watchin' 'im."

"Why is Perkins watching him?" the girl asked in deep alarm.

"Dunno, Miss Lou, 'cept on 'count ob he gradge. Mad Whately en he talk knowin'—like en den Perkins tek he lantern en jine de gyard. W'en I las' see 'im he watchin' Marse Scoville close."

"Lieutenant Scoville wasn't hurt, was he?"

"Reck'n not. Didn't 'pear dat away, but he look at Perkins ez ef he feared on 'im. Ef I had ony Perkins ter deal wid I gib Marse Scoville he freedom in pay fer mine, but dar's sogers all aroun' en dey stick me quick ez dey would a pig."

"Oh, Chunk! what shall we do? I could have no influence over the guard or Perkins either. Oh! OH! Mad Whately, you'll end by making me loathe you. To think of employing that treacherous wretch!"

"Dat's des w'at I feard on, Miss Lou. Reck'n yo' cousin en Perkins projeckin' some debil trick."

"You say my cousin has charge of the prisoners?"

"Yassum. I yeared 'im gib de orders 'bout um, but I too fur off ter year w'at he say."

"Can you think of any way, Chunk?"

"Ef de gyard ony all get ter sleep, I'd tek de risk ob tacklin'
Perkins, but dere's too many en I des stumped ter know w'at ter do."

"Hi! Miss Lou," whispered listening Zany, "I kin tell you w'at ter do."

"Doan you pay no 'tention ter her foolishness," said Chunk coolly. "Dis life-en-death business, en Zany outgrowed her sense."

"En you ain' growed into your'n," responded Zany. "Ef you has, why doan you tell Miss Lou 'bout tings dat kin be done 'stead o tings dat kyant be?"

"Well, Zany, what have you to say? Quick, and speak lower."

"Miss Lou, dar's Mad Whately's coat en pants hangin' out in de hall. You put dem on, en tie yo' arm up in a sling. In de night who say you ain Marse Whately?"

"Oh, Zany!" exclaimed the girl, appalled at first by the boldness of the scheme.

"Well, dar now," whispered Chunk, "who'd tink dat ar gyurl got so much gumption! See yere, Miss Lou, dat de way ef you got de spunk ter do it. Ole Perkins tink you Mad Whately comin' ter play de debil trick en let you tek Marse Scoville way quietly, en de gyard won' 'fere wid you nudder, kase dey un'er yo' cousin. You kin go en lead Marse Scoville right off, en if Perkins follow I settle 'im."

"Do you think there's no other way?" Miss Lou asked, with 'quick, agitated breathing.

"Fo' de Lawd, I doesn't."

"I don't know what they would do to me in the morning, I'd be sent away. Oh, you can't realize the risk I would take."

"'Spects not, mistis. I ony know Marse Scoville tek mo' resk fer you ef he could."

Chunk had touched the right chord now. She set her white face like flint in the darkness, and said, "I'll make the attempt, no matter what happens to me."

"Den I des sneak out en get he coat en trousers," Zany whispered.

"Yes."

"En, Miss Lou, you des come out de house dis away wid me en Zany," Chunk added. "Less charnce er bein' stopped. We kin go troo de gyardin end de bushes till we mos' whar we kin see Marse Scoville. Mebbe hit berry much plainer w'at ter do arter we get out en look roun'. I hab a ladder yere en you git down mighty easy."

"Yes, that's the best way. I wish to take no risks of being seen till after I make my attempt."

Zany reconnoitred the hall. No one was in sight. Even Mrs. Baron, wearied out, had retired, and Mr. Baron had resolved to spend the night in the dining-room, partly out of courtesy to the Confederate general and partly to be ready for any emergency. In the hall and on the front and rear piazzas were alert sentinels who would have observed and reported any unusual proceeding—therefore Chunk's plan was the only feasible one. In the darkness Zany helped Miss Lou don her cousin's uniform and slouched hat which, limp from the rain, fell over her face. She was not so very much shorter than he as to make the fit a bad one when seen in the partial light. The trousers had to be turned up, but that would be expected on account of the mud. Her plumpness filled out the coat very comfortably, and her arm in a sling made the disguise almost perfect.

While Miss Lou was dressing Chunk again reconnoitred and reported the coast clear. It was now about midnight and all were sleeping except those whom imperative duty or pain kept awake. Chunk led the way, steadying Miss Lou with a firm hand, and Zany followed.

"Now, Miss Lou," Chunk whispered, "I tek you de s'curest way, so you git back en' nobody see you ef I git cotched."

They made a circuit to avoid the kitchen and climbed over a low fence into the garden. On the further side, opening on the driveway to the stables, was a gate. Before reaching this, Miss Lou said to Zany, "You stay here. If there's an alarm, go to the kitchen. You must not be known to have had anything to do with this affair. It might cost you your life."

"Ve'y well, Miss Lou."

The young girl and her guide paused at the gate some moments, for attendants upon the wounded, with whom the outbuildings were filled, were passing to and fro. At last they stole across the roadway to the shelter of a clump of trees beyond. From this point they could see the group of prisoners about the fire, which was in a rather dying condition. It was evident that some of the guards had succumbed to weariness, but Perkins still watched with the tirelessness of hate, his lantern so placed that its rays fell on Scoville, who could not make a movement without being observed. Indeed, it was clear that he, too, was almost overcome with sleep, for he occasionally nodded and swayed before the fire.

"Now, Miss Lou," whispered Chunk, "I gwine ter wake Marse Scoville up by tootin' lak a squinch-owl," and he did so briefly.

The Union officer was much too wary to start and look around, but he gradually proved that he was alert. Close scrutiny of Perkins showed that the signal had no significance to him.

"Miss Lou," resumed Chunk, "dere's not'n fer you but ter walk right down de road ter de fire, berry quiet like, put yo' finger on yo' lips ter Perkins so he tink you 'bout ter play de debil trick, en' den lead Marse Scoville into de gyardin. Ef Perkins foller, I foller 'im. My hoss down by de run en we git off dat away."

The girl drew a long breath and started. Now that she was in the crisis of the emergency a certain innate spirit and courage sustained her. Knowing her cousin so well, she could assume his very gait and manner, while her arm, carried in a sling, perfected a disguise which only broad light would have rendered useless. Her visit caused no surprise to the sergeant of the guard, on whom at first she kept her eyes. He merely saluted and thought Lieutenant Whately was attentive to his duty. Perkins was not surprised either, yet a little perplexed. As it had been supposed and hoped, the thought rose instantly in his revengeful nature that the Confederate officer had some design on Scoville. The latter watched the form recognized by the others as that of Whately with the closest scrutiny, and an immense throb of hope stirred his heart. Could it be possible?

Miss Lou looked over the sleeping prisoners for a moment and then, as if satisfied, stepped quite near to Perkins, guarding meantime not to permit the rays of the lamp to fall on her face. "Leave him to me," she whispered, with a nod toward Scoville, and she put her finger to her lips. She next touched Scoville on the shoulder and simply said, "Come."

He rose as if reluctantly and followed.

Perkins did not suspect the ruse, the disguise was so good and Whately's right to appear so unquestioned; but he felt defrauded in having no part in the vengeance which he supposed would be wreaked on Scoville. After a moment or two of thought, he obeyed the impulse to follow, hoping to see what Whately intended to do, and if circumstances warranted, to be near to help. "If Mad Whately's high-strung notions lead 'im to fight a duel," he thought, "en the Yank comes off best, I'll settle my own score. Whately was ter'ble stirred up 'bout the Yank's talkin' ter his cousin, en would like ter kill 'im, but his officer-notions won't let 'im kill the blue-coated cuss ez I would. Ef thar's ter be a fight, I won't be fur off," and he stole after the two figures disappearing in the gloom.

But Nemesis was on his steps. Chunk had shaken with silent laughter as he saw that their scheme was working well, but he never took his eyes from Perkins. Crouching, crawling, he closed on the overseer's track, and when the man passed into the garden, the negro followed.

As Scoville accompanied Miss Lou, he soon ventured to breathe her name in a tentative way. "Hush!" she whispered. Then his heart beat thick with overpowering emotions of gratitude, admiration and love. Entering the garden, she led the way quickly toward Aun' Jinkey's cabin, and at a point where the shrubbery was thickest about the path, turned suddenly, put her finger on her lips, and breathed, "Listen."

They distinctly heard steps following and drew back into the bushes. Then came the thud of a blow and the heavy fall of a man. The blow was so severe that not even a groan followed, and for a moment all was still. Then Chunk, like a shadow, glided forward and would have passed had not Miss Lou whispered his name.

"Foller me," he answered breathlessly.

This they did, but Scoville secured the girl's hand and carried it to his lips. The negro led the way beyond the garden to the run, where he had left his horse. "Lis'n onct mo'," he said. "Dat was Perkins I laid out."

All was still. "Chunk," said Scoville, "go back on your tracks a little and see if there are any signs of alarm."

Obedience was very prompt, for Chunk muttered as he ran, "My heart des bustin' 'bout Zany. Got ter lebe her now, sho! Ter thunk ob her showin' so much gumption!"

Scoville again took Miss Lou's hands. "Oh, hasten, hasten," she said breathlessly, "you are in great danger here."

"I can scarcely speak to you," he replied, "my heart is so full. You brave, noble little girl! How HAVE you accomplished this?"

Incoherently she told him and again urged, "Oh, DO go at once, for my sake as well as yours, or all may be in vain. I can't breathe until I've put back my cousin's uniform."

Now that the supreme crisis of danger had apparently passed for the moment, she was trembling violently in nervous reaction, and could speak only in little gasps. Every instant a deeper appreciation of the immense effort she had made in his behalf overwhelmed Scoville, and for a moment he lost all self-control. Snatching her to his breast he whispered, "Oh, you little hero, you little saint, I wish I could shield you with my life. I don't believe you half realize what you have done for me, bravest, truest, sweetest—"

"Oh, hush," she pleaded, extricating herself from his arms. "Go, PLEASE go at once, for my sake."

"Yes, my dear girl, I must go soon, more for your sake than mine. With this horse and this start, I am safe. Oh, it's terribly hard to leave you." Then he hooted low to recall Chunk. "Don't tremble so. After all, it's best to wait a few moments to make sure there is no pursuit. Thank God, after what you have done for me to-night you will never forget me, you will always care for me. Again I see as never before how true it is that a woman cares most for him whom most she has tried to help. You have risked much for me; I give all to you. Only death can keep me from seeking you and living for you always. Remember, I ask nothing which your own heart does not prompt, but you cannot help my giving undying loyalty. See, I just kneel to you in homage and gratitude. There never was such a gem of a girl."

Chunk now appealed, recalled from a more affectionate parting than Zany had ever vouchsafed before, and he began to unhitch the horse.

"Chunk must go back with you," Scoville began.

"Oh, no," she whispered, "I cannot breathe till you both are well away.
Chunk would be killed instantly—"

"No matter; he has become a soldier like myself and must take all risks. I will not leave this spot—I will go with you myself, rather than leave you here."

"Why, ob co'se I 'spects ter go back wid you, Miss Lou. You tink I gwine ter lebe you yere en dat ladder dar ter tell de hull business? Come wid me."

"Well, then, good-by, and God keep you, Lieutenant. I shall hope to see you again."

"To see YOU again will be my dearest hope. Dear, DEAR little Lou! how brave you've been! You've won a soldier's whole heart forever. How can I say good-by? You can't dream how dear you have become to me. Please, one kiss before we separate."

Yielding to an impulse then not understood, she put her arm swiftly about his neck, kissed him, and turned so rapidly toward her home that Chunk could scarcely keep pace with her.

They reached the ladder unobserved, and from the roof of the extension the way to Miss Lou's room was easy. Chunk went to a point from which he could watch the girl enter her apartment. Putting the ladder back into the garden, he rejoined Scoville, and together they made their way in the direction of the retiring Union column. Scoville never wearied in questioning his attendant about every detail of Miss Lou's action, while conjectures as to her experiences often robbed him of sleep. Never was a man more completely won and held in love's sweet thraldom.

On regaining her room, Miss Lou hastily threw off her cousin's clothes and resumed her own apparel. Then she softly and cautiously opened her door. With the exception of sounds in the lower hall, all was still, and she slipped out in her stocking-feet, replaced the uniform on the chairs, stole back and bolted her door. For half an hour she sat panting on her chair, listening to every sound. Only the groans of the wounded smote her ears. "Oh, thank God! I do not hear HIS voice among them," she half sobbed, in pity for those who WERE suffering. "Well, I can best forget my anxiety about him by doing something for these poor men. Oh, how strange and true his words are! He touched my heart at first by just being helpless when he fell by the run, and everything I do for him seems to make him dearer. It cannot be that I shall never see him again. Oh, when shall I forget the way he took me in his arms? It seemed as if he gave me his whole heart then and couldn't help himself."

There was a near mutter of thunder. In her deep preoccupation, she had not noticed the coming of another shower. It proved a short but heavy one, and she exulted. "The rain will obliterate all our tracks."

Calmer thought led to the conclusion that the affair would be very serious for her if her part in it was discovered. She had acted almost without thought, without realizing the risks she had incurred, and now the possible consequences so appalled her that she resolved to be on her guard in every possible way. "He knew, he understood the risk I took better than I did then, better than I do now, perhaps," she breathed softly. "That's so fine in him—that way he has of making me feel that one's WORTH being cared for." She was far too excited and anxious to sleep. Wrapping herself up, she watched at her window. Soon the stars began to twinkle beneath the clouds in the west, showing that this last shower was a clearing one, and that the radiance of the moon might soon be undimmed. The fires along the ridge which, as she believed, still defined the Union position, were burning low. Suddenly flashes and reports of firearms in that direction startled her.