“Certainly; but you will forgive me if I imagined that an expression of contempt for your hosts was a part of it.”

He rang a bell on the table.  It was responded to by an orderly.

“Send all the household servants here.”

The room was presently filled with the dusky faces of the negro retainers.  Here and there was the gleaming of white teeth, but a majority of the assembly wore the true negro serious acceptance of the importance of “an occasion.”  One or two even affected an official and soldierly bearing.  And, as he fully expected, there were several glances of significant recognition of the stranger.

“You will give,” said Brant sternly, “every aid and attention to the wants of this young lady, who is here to represent the interests of your old master.  As she will be entirely dependent upon you in all things connected with her visit here, see to it that she does not have to complain to me of any inattention,—­or be obliged to ask for other assistance.”

As Miss Faulkner, albeit a trifle paler in the cheek, but as scornful as ever, was about to follow the servants from the room, Brant stopped her, with a coldly courteous gesture.

“You will understand, therefore, Miss Faulkner, that you have your wish, and that you will not be exposed to any contact with the members of my military family, nor they with you.”

“Am I then to be a prisoner in this house—­and under a free pass of your—­President?” she said indignantly.

“By no means!  You are free to come and go, and see whom you please.  I have no power to control your actions.  But I have the power to control theirs.”

She swept furiously from the room.

“That is quite enough to fill her with a desire to flirt with every man here,” said Brant to himself, with a faint smile; “but I fancy they have had a taste enough of her quality.”

Nevertheless he sat down and wrote a few lines to the division commander, pointing out that he had already placed the owner’s private property under strict surveillance, that it was cared for and perfectly preserved by the household servants, and that the pass was evidently obtained as a subterfuge.

To this he received a formal reply, regretting that the authorities at Washington still found it necessary to put this kind of risk and burden on the army in the field, but that the order emanated from the highest authority, and must be strictly obeyed.  At the bottom of the page was a characteristic line in pencil in the general’s own hand—­“Not the kind that is dangerous.”

A flush mounted Brant’s cheeks, as if it contained not only a hidden, but a personal significance.  He had thought of his own wife!

Singularly enough, a day or two later, at dinner, the conversation turned upon the intense sectional feeling of Southern women, probably induced by their late experiences.  Brant, at the head of the table, in his habitual abstraction, was scarcely following the somewhat excited diction of Colonel Strangeways, one of his staff.