“Yes,” she said, “in the rear of the negro quarters.”

“Good,” he replied, “that will be your way out.  She will leave here, publicly, through the parade, armed with a pass from me.  She will be overhauled and challenged by the first sentry near the guardhouse, below the wall.  She will be subjected to some delay and scrutiny, which she will, however, be able to pass better than you would.  This will create the momentary diversion that we require.  In the mean time, you will have left the house by the rear, and you will then keep in the shadow of the hedge until you can drop down along the Run, where it empties into the swamp.  That,” he continued, fixing his keen eyes upon her, “is the one weak point in the position of this place that is neither overlooked nor defended.  But perhaps,” he added again grimly, “you already know it.”

“It is the marsh where the flowers grow, near the path where you met Miss Faulkner.  I had crossed the marsh to give her a letter,” she said slowly.

A bitter smile came over Brant’s face, but passed as quickly.

“Enough,” he said quietly, “I will meet you beside the Run, and cross the marsh with you until you are within hailing distance of your lines.  I will be in plain clothes, Alice,” he went on slowly, “for it will not be the commander of this force who accompanies you, but your husband, and, without disgracing his uniform, he will drop to your level; for the instant he passes his own lines, in disguise, he will become, like you, a spy, and amenable to its penalties.”

Her eyes seemed suddenly to leap up to his with that strange look of awakening and enthusiasm which he had noted before.  And in its complete prepossession of all her instincts she rose from the bed, unheeding her bared arms and shoulders and loosened hair, and stood upright before him.  For an instant husband and wife regarded each other as unreservedly as in their own chamber at Robles.

“When shall I go?”

He glanced through the window already growing lighter with the coming dawn.  The relief would pass in a few moments; the time seemed propitious.

“At once,” he said.  “I will send Rose to you.”

But his wife had already passed into the closet, and was tapping upon some inner door.  He heard the sound of hinges turning and the rustling of garments.  She reappeared, holding the curtains of the closet together with her hand, and said,—­

“Go!  When she comes to your office for the pass, you will know that I have gone.”

He turned away.

“Stop!” she said faintly.

He turned back.  Her expression had again changed.  Her face was deadly pale; a strange tremor seemed to have taken possession of her.  Her hands dropped from the curtain.  Her beautiful arms moved slightly forward; it seemed to him that she would in the next moment have extended them towards him.  But even then she said hurriedly, “Go!  Go!” and slipped again behind the curtains.