He reined in his horse, again extended his hand, saluted, and rejoined his staff.

Brigadier-General Clarence Brant remained for a moment with his head bent in thoughtful contemplation of the coolness of his veteran chief under this exciting disclosure, and the strategy with which he had frustrated the traitor’s success.  Then his eye caught the sealed packet in his belt.  He mechanically drew it out, and broke the seal.  The envelope was filled with papers and memorandums.  But as he looked at them his face darkened and his brow knit.  He glanced quickly around him.  The staff had trotted away; the captain and his detail were continuing their work at a little distance.  He took a long breath, for he was holding in his hand a tracing of their camp, even of the position he was to occupy tomorrow, and a detailed account of the movements, plans, and force of the whole division as had been arranged in council of war the day before the battle!  But there was no indication of the writer or his intentions.

He thrust the papers hurriedly back into the envelope, but placed it, this time, in his breast.  He galloped towards the captain.

“Let me see again the officer from whom you took that packet!”

The captain led him to where the body lay, with others, extended more decently on the grass awaiting removal.  General Brant with difficulty repressed an ejaculation.

“Why, it’s one of our own men,” he said quickly.

“Yes, General.  They say it’s Lieutenant Wainwright, a regular, of the paymaster general’s department.”

“Then what was he doing here?” asked General Brant sternly.

“I can’t make out, sir, unless he went into the last advance as a volunteer.  Wanted to see the fight, I suppose.  He was a dashing fellow, a West Pointer,—­and a Southerner, too,—­a Virginian.”

“A Southerner!” echoed Brant quickly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Search him again,” said Brant quietly.  He had recovered his usual coolness, and as the captain again examined the body, he took out his tablets and wrote a few lines.  It was an order to search the quarters of Lieutenant Wainwright and bring all papers, letters, and documents to him.  He then beckoned one of the detail towards him.  “Take that to the provost marshal at once.  Well, Captain,” he added calmly, as the officer again approached him, “what do you find?”

“Only this, sir,” returned the captain, with a half smile, producing a small photograph.  “I suppose it was overlooked, too.”

He handed it to Brant.

There was a sudden fixing of his commanding officer’s eyes, but his face did not otherwise change.

“It’s the usual find, General.  Always a photograph!  But this time a handsome woman!”

“Very,” said Clarence Brant quietly.  It was the portrait of his own wife.

CHAPTER II.