“In General Joseph Johnston’s army,” she replied, trying to be patient.  “But now,” she gulped, “now he has been arrested as a spy by General Sherman’s army.”

“That’s too bad,” answered Mr. Lincoln.

“And—­and they are going to shoot him.”

“That’s worse,” said Mr. Lincoln, gravely.  “But I expect he deserves it.”

“Oh, no, he doesn’t,” she cried.  “You don’t know how brave he is!  He floated down the Mississippi on a log, out of Vicksburg, and brought back thousands and thousands of percussion caps.  He rowed across the river when the Yankee fleet was going down, and set fire to De Soto so that they could see to shoot.”

“Well,” said Mr. Lincoln, “that’s a good starter.”  Then he looked thoughtful.

“Miss Carvel,” said he, “that argument reminds me of a story about a man I used to know in the old days in Illinois.  His name was McNeil, and he was a lawyer.

“One day he was defending a prisoner for assault and battery before Judge Drake.

“’Judge, says McNeil, ’you oughtn’t to lock this man up.  It was a fair fight, and he’s the best man in the state in a fair fight.  And, what’s more, he’s never been licked in a fair fight in his life.’

“‘And if your honor does lock me up,’ the prisoner put in, ’I’ll give your honor a thunderin’ big lickin’ when I get out.’

“The Judge took off his coat.

“‘Gentlemen,’ said he, ’it’s a powerful queer argument, but the Court will admit it on its merits.  The prisoner will please to step out on the grass.’”

This time Virginia contrived merely to smile.  She was striving against something, she knew not what.  Her breath was coming deeply, and she was dangerously near to tears.  Why?  She could not tell.  She had come into this man’s presence despising herself for having to ask him a favor.  The sight of his face she had ridiculed.  Now she could not look into it without an odd sensation.  What was in it?  Sorrow?  Yes, that was nearest it.

What had the man done?  Told her a few funny stories—­given quizzical answers to some of her questions.  Quizzical, yes; but she could not be sure then there was not wisdom in them, and that humiliated her.  She had never conceived of such a man.  And, be it added gratuitously, Virginia deemed herself something of an adept in dealing with men.

“And now,” said Mr. Lincoln, “to continue for the defence, I believe that Colonel Colfax first distinguished himself at the time of Camp Jackson, when of all the prisoners he refused to accept a parole.”

Startled, she looked up at him swiftly, and then down again.  “Yes,” she answered, “yes.  But oh, Mr. Lincoln, please don’t hold that against him.”

If she could only have seen his face then.  But her lashes were dropped.

“My dear young lady,” replied the President, “I honor him for it.  I was merely elaborating the argument which you have begun.  On the other hand, it is a pity that he should have taken off that uniform which he adorned and attempted to enter General Sherman’s lines as a civilian,—­as a spy.”