He stopped, for his eyes suddenly fell upon the bed and its occupant.  Both he and his companion started.  But to the natural, unaffected dismay of a gentleman who had unwittingly intruded upon a lady’s bedchamber, Brant’s quick eye saw a more disastrous concern superadded.  Colonel Lagrange was quick to recover himself, as they both removed their caps.

“A thousand pardons,” he said, hurriedly stepping backwards to the door.  “But I hardly need say to a fellow-officer, general, that we had no idea of making so gross an intrusion!  We heard some cock-and-bull story of your being occupied—­cross-questioning an escaped or escaping nigger—­or we should never have forced ourselves upon you.”

Brant glanced quickly at his wife.  Her face had apparently become rigid on the entrance of the two men; her eyes were coldly fixed upon the ceiling.  He bowed formally, and, with a wave of his hand towards the door, said,—­

“I will hear your story below, gentleman.”

He followed them from the room, stopped to quietly turn the key in the lock, and then motioned them to precede him down the staircase.

CHAPTER VII.

Not a word was exchanged till they had reached the lower landing and Brant’s private room.  Dismissing his subaltern and orderly with a sign, Brant turned towards his prisoners.  The jaunty ease, but not the self-possession, had gone from Lagrange’s face; the eyes of Captain Faulkner were fixed on his older companion with a half-humorous look of perplexity.

“I am afraid I can only repeat, general, that our foolhardy freak has put us in collision with your sentries,” said Lagrange, with a slight hauteur, that replaced his former jauntiness; “and we were very properly made prisoners.  If you will accept my parole, I have no doubt our commander will proceed to exchange a couple of gallant fellows of yours, whom I have had the honor of meeting within our own lines, and whom you must miss probably more than I fear our superiors miss us.”

“Whatever brought you here, gentlemen,” said Brant drily, “I am glad, for your sakes, that you are in uniform, although it does not, unfortunately, relieve me of an unpleasant duty.”

“I don’t think I understand you,” returned Lagrange, coldly.

“If you had not been in uniform, you would probably have been shot down as spies, without the trouble of capture,” said Brant quietly.

“Do you mean to imply, sir”—­began Lagrange sternly.

“I mean to say that the existence of a Confederate spy between this camp and the division headquarters is sufficiently well known to us to justify the strongest action.”

“And pray, how can that affect us?” said Lagrange haughtily.

“I need not inform so old a soldier as Colonel Lagrange that the aiding, abetting, and even receiving information from a spy or traitor within one’s lines is an equally dangerous service.”