“Now, then, Corporal, you found what?”

“Nothing, sir.  We hunted from cellar to roof.  No arms and no rebels.”

“H’m,” he mused.  “Anything else?”

“Three bedrooms, sir.  All in use.”

“Three?” Colonel Morrison exclaimed.  “Very well.  That’s all.  I’ll join you in a moment.”  Then he turned to Mrs. Cary, his face stern with resolve.

“Madam,” he said crisply, “you are not alone on this plantation with only this old negro.  We are wasting time.  I’m after a Rebel scout and I want him.  Which way did he go?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, quite ready to play her game again.  “But our Rebel scouts usually neglect to mention their precise intentions.”

“Perhaps.  If this one went at all.  Is he still here?”

“I should imagine—­not.”

“Then he did go this way—­to the river crossing?”

Once more he caught and held her eyes and thought he would read the truth in spite of anything she might say.

But while he looked he saw her strained face suddenly relax—­saw the anxiety flee from her eyes—­saw heart and soul take on new life.  From far away across the river had come some faint popping sounds, regularly spaced—­three shots.

“Ah!” he said, in wonder.  “What is that?”

“It sounds,” laughed Herbert Cary’s wife, “like firing.  But I think it is a friend of mine saluting me—­from the safe side of the river.  Good evening, Colonel,” and she swept by him.  She could go find Virgie now.

Just then came the sound of a horse, galloping.  Up the road came a trooper, white with dust, his animal flecked with foam.

“For Colonel Morrison.  Urgent,” he rasped from a dry throat, as he thudded across the lawn and dismounted.  “From headquarters,” and he thrust out a dispatch, “I’m ordered to return with your detachment.”

Snatching the dispatch from the man’s hand Morrison ran his eye over it—­then started visibly.

“Orderly!  Report to Harris double-quick.  Recall the men.  Sound boots-and-saddles.  Then bring my horse—­at once! Any details?” he asked peremptorily of the courier.

“Big battle to-morrow,” the man answered.  “Two gunboats are reported coming up the river and a wing of the Rebel army is advancing from Petersburg.  Every available detachment is ordered in.  You are to reach camp before morning.”

“All right.  We’ll be there.”  Then, as the bugle sounded, “Ride with us,” he said, and strode over to where Mrs. Cary stood, arrested by the news.

“Madam, I must make you a rather hurried farewell—­and a last apology.  If ever we meet again, I hope the conditions may be happier—­for you.”

“I thank you, Colonel,” the proud Southern woman said sincerely, with a curtsy.  “Some day the ‘rebel scout’ may thank you also for me and mine.”  And with a smile that augured friendship when that brighter day should come she passed out of his sight among the trees.