NONE of the three had ever seen any one unconscious before. Sally stood back, aghast and helpless. Genevieve expressed herself as she usually did in emergencies, with a loud and resounding howl. But Doris rushed into the house, fetched a dipper of cold water and dashed it into Miss Camilla’s face. Then she began to rub her hands and ordered Sally to fan her as hard as she could. The simple expedients worked in a short time, and Miss Camilla came to herself.

“I—I never did such a foolish thing before!” she gasped, when she realized what had happened. “But this is all so—so amazing and startling! It almost seemed like my brother’s own voice, speaking to me from the past.” Again she sat back in her chair and closed her eyes, but this time only to regain her poise. And then Doris did a very tactful thing.

“Miss Camilla,” she began, “we’ve discovered how to read the notebook, and I’m sure you won’t have any trouble with it. I think we had better be getting home now, for it is nearly five o’clock. So we’ll say good-bye for today, and hope you won’t feel faint any more.”

Miss Camilla gave her a grateful glance. Greatly as she wished to be alone with this message left her by a brother whose fate she did not dare to guess, yet she was too courteous to dismiss these two girls who had done so much toward helping her solve the problem. And she was more appreciative of Doris’s thoughtful suggestion of departure than she could have put into words.

“Thank you, dear,” she replied, “and come again tomorrow, all of you. Perhaps I shall have—something to tell you then!”

And with many a backward glance and much waving of hands, they took their departure across the fields.

. . . . . . . .

It was with the wildest impatience that they waited for the following afternoon to obey Miss Camilla’s behest and “come again.” But promptly at two o’clock they were trailing through the pine woods and the meadow that separated it from the Roundtree farmhouse.

“Do you know,” whispered Sally, “crazy as I am to hear all about it, I almost dread it, too. I’m so afraid it may have been bad news for her.”

“I feel just the same,” confided Doris, “and yet I’m bursting with impatience, too. Well, let’s go on and hear the worst. If it’s very bad, she probably won’t want to say much about it.”

But their first sight of Miss Camilla convinced them that the news was not, at least, “very bad.” She sat on the porch as usual, knitting serenely, but there was a new light in her face, a sweet, satisfied tranquillity that had never been there before.

“I’m glad you’ve come!” she greeted them. “I have much to tell you.”

“Was it—was it all right?” faltered Doris.

“It was more than ‘all right,’” she replied. “It was wonderful. But I am going to read the whole thing to you. I spent nearly all last night deciphering the letter,—for a letter it was,—and I think it is only right you should hear it, after what you have done for me.” She went inside the house and brought out several large sheets of paper on which she had transcribed the meaning of the mysterious message.

“Listen,” she said. “It is as wonderful as a fairy-tale. And how I have misjudged him!”

“‘My beloved sister,’” she read, “‘in the event of any disaster befalling us, I want you to know the danger and the difficulties of what we have undertaken. It is only right that you should, and I know of no other way to communicate it to you, than by the roundabout means of this military cipher which I am using. You are away in Europe now, and safe, and Father intentionally keeps you there because of the very dangerous enterprise in which we are involved. Lest any untoward thing should befall before your return, we leave this as an explanation.

“‘Contrary to any appearances, or anything you may hear said in the future, I am a loyal and devoted soldier of the Union. But I am serving it in the most dangerous capacity imaginable,—as a scout or spy in the Confederate Army, wearing its uniform, serving in its ranks, but in reality spying on every move and action and communicating all its secrets that I am capable of obtaining to the Government and our own commanders. I stand in hourly danger of being discovered—and for that there is but one end. You know what it is. Of course, I am not serving under my own name, so that if you never hear word of my fate, you may know it is the only one possible for those who are serving as I serve.

“‘Father is also carrying on the work, but in a slightly different capacity. There are a set of Confederate workers up here secretly engaged in raising funds and planning new campaigns for the South. Father has identified himself with them, and they hold many meetings at our house to discuss plans and information. Apparently he is hand in glove with them, but in reality is all the while disclosing their plans to the Government. They could doubtless kill him without scruple, if they suspected it, and get away to the safety of their own lines unscathed, before anything was discovered. So you see, he also stands hourly on the brink of death.

“‘For two years we have carried on this work unharmed, but I suppose it cannot go on forever. Some day my disguise will be penetrated, and all will be over with me. Some day Father will meet with some violent end when he is alone and unprotected, and no one will be found to answer for the deed. But it will all be for the glory of the Union we delight to serve. Now do you understand the situation?

“‘I do not get home here often, and never except for the purpose of conveying some message that will best be sent to headquarters through this channel. My field of service is with the armies south of the Potomac. But while I am here now, Father and I have consulted as to the best way of communicating this news to you and have decided on this means. We cannot tell how soon our end may come. Father tells me there are rumors about here that we are serving the Confederate side. Should you return unexpectedly and find us gone, and perhaps hear those rumors, you would certainly be justified in putting the worst construction on our actions.

“‘So we have decided to write and leave you this message. It will be left carelessly among Father’s papers, and without the cipher will, of course, be unreadable by any one. But we have not yet decided in what place to conceal the cipher where there is no danger of its being discovered. That is a military secret and, if it were disclosed, would be fatal and far-reaching in its consequences.’”

Miss Camilla stopped there, and her spellbound listeners drew a long breath.

“Isn’t it wonderful!” breathed Doris. “And they were loyal and devoted to the Union all the time. How happy you must be, Miss Camilla.”

“I am happy,—beyond words!” she replied. “But that is not quite all of it. So far, it was evidently written at one sitting, calmly and coherently. There is a little more, but it is hasty and confused, and somewhat puzzling. It must have been added at another time, and I suspect now, probably just at the time of my return. There is a blank half-page, and then it goes on:

“‘In a great hurry. Most vital and urgent business has brought me back to see Father. Just learned you were here. There is grave, terrible danger. The rebels are invading. I am with them, of course. Not far away. Must return tonight, at once, to lines, if I ever get there alive. Have a task before me that will undoubtedly see the end of me. In this rig and in this place am open to danger from friend and foe alike. But there is no time to change. Hope for best. Forgive haste but there is not a moment to lose. Father seems ill and unlike himself. He saw two or three Confederate spies at the house today. Always suspect something is wrong after such a meeting. Don’t be surprised at state of the house. Unavoidable but all right. Father will explain where I have hidden this cipher code. Always your loving brother,

“‘Roland.’

“And there is one more strange line,” ended Miss Camilla. “It is this:

“‘In case you should forget, or Father doesn’t tell you, right hand side from house, behind 27.’”

“That is all!” She folded up the paper and sat looking away over the meadow, as did the others, in the awed silence that followed naturally the receipt of this message of one whose fate could be only too well guessed.

“And he never came back?” half-whispered Doris, at last.

“No, he never came back,” answered Miss Camilla softly. “I haven’t a doubt but that he met the fate he so surely predicted. I have been thinking back and reading back over the events of that period, and I can pretty well reconstruct what must have happened. It was in the month of June of 1863, when Lee suddenly invaded Pennsylvania. From that time until his defeat at Gettysburg, there was the greatest panic all through this region, and every one was certain that it spelt ruin for the entire North, especially Pennsylvania and New Jersey. I suppose my brother was with his army and had made his way over home here to get or communicate news. How he came or went, I cannot imagine, and never shall know. But I can easily see how his fate would be certain were he seen by any of the Federal authorities in a Confederate uniform. Probably no explanation would save him, with many of them. For that was the risk run by every scout, to be the prey of friend and foe alike, unless he could get hold of the highest authority in time. He doubtless lies in an unknown grave, either in this state or in Pennsylvania.”

“But—your father?” hesitated Sally. “Do you—do you think anything queer—happened to him?”

“That I shall never know either,” answered Miss Camilla. “His symptoms looked to me like apoplexy, at the time. Now that I think it over, they might possibly have been caused by some slow and subtle poison having a gradually paralyzing effect. You see, my brother says he had seen some of the Confederate spies that day. Perhaps they had begun to suspect him, and had taken this means to get him out of the way. I cannot tell. As I could not get a doctor at the time, the village doctor, who had known us all our lives, took my word for it next day that it was apoplexy. But, whatever it may have been, I know that they both died in the service of the country they loved, and that is enough for me. It has removed the burden of many years of grief and shame from my shoulders. I can once more lift up my head among my fellow-countrymen!”

And Miss Camilla did actually radiate happiness with her whole attractive personality.

“But I cannot make any meaning out of that queer last line,” mused Sally after a time. “Will you read it to us again, Miss Camilla, please?”

And Miss Camilla repeated the odd message,—“‘In case you should forget, or Father does not tell you, right hand side from house, behind twenty-seven.’”

“Now what in the world can that all mean?” she demanded. “At first I thought perhaps it might mean where they had hidden the code, but that couldn’t be because we found that under the old mattress in the cave. Your brother probably went out that way that night and left it there on the way.”

“Wait a minute,” suddenly interrupted Doris. “Do you remember just before the end he says, ‘do not be surprised at the state of the house. Unavoidable but all right.’ Now what could he mean by that? Do you know what I think? I believe he was apologizing because things seemed so upset and—and many of the valuable things were missing, as Miss Camilla said. If there was such excitement about, and fear of Lee’s invasion, why isn’t it possible that they hid those valuable things somewhere, so they would be safe, whatever happened, and this was to tell her, without speaking too plainly, that it was all right? The brother thought his father would explain, but in case he didn’t, or it was forgotten, he gave the clue where to find them.”

Miss Camilla sat forward in renewed excitement, her eye-glasses brushed awry. “Why, of course! Of course! I’ve never thought of it. Not once since I read this letter. The other was so much more important. But naturally that is what they must have done,—hidden them to keep them safe. They never, never would have disposed of them in any other way or for any other reason. But where in the world can that place be? ‘Right hand side from the house behind 27’ means nothing at all—to me!”

“Well, it does to me!” suddenly exclaimed Sally, the natural-born treasure-hunter of them all. “Where else could they hide anything so safely as in that cave or tunnel? Nobody would ever suspect in the world. And I somehow don’t think it meant the cave. I believe it means somewhere in the tunnel, on the right hand side as you enter from the cellar.”

“But what about 27?” demanded Miss Camilla. “That doesn’t seem to mean anything, does it?”

“No, of course it doesn’t mean anything to you, because you haven’t been through the tunnel, and wouldn’t know. But every once in a while, along the sides, are planks from that old vessel, put there to keep the sides more firm, I guess. There must be seventy-five or a hundred on each side. Now I believe it means that if we look behind the twenty-seventh one from the cellar entrance, on the right hand side, we’ll find the—the things hidden there.”

Then Miss Camilla rose, the light of younger days shining adventurously in her eyes.

“If that’s the case, we’ll go and dig them out tomorrow!” she announced gaily.