s?"

"I think nothing of them. If they could mesmerize me, I should like to
see them do it."

"Oh, would you, you poor young man," she said, with a strange smile.
"How would you know that you were mesmerized, and how would you help
yourself?"

I know not what reply I made. A fit of dejection had seized me, and I
could think of nothing but Jane Ryder. "You mustn't think of that young
lady upstairs as hating you," said the woman, after she had brushed the
hat and had asked me if I felt strong enough to walk a mile or more.
"All she means is that she hates your principles. She hates secession,
and she hates Secessionists. But something has upset her of late; she
is not herself at all. I'm telling you the truth."

"She hates me; you may depend on that; but her hate makes no difference
to me. I love her, and I'd love her if she were to cut my throat."

"Is that true? Are you honest? May I tell her so some time--not
now--but some time when you are far away?"

"To what end?" I asked. "She would tear her hair out if she knew it;
she would never be happy again."

"You don't happen to love her well enough to join her side, do you?"
This question was put hesitatingly, and, as I thought, with some shy
hope that it would receive consideration.

"Madam, you have tried to be kind to me in your way, and therefore I
will say nothing to wound your feelings; but if a man were to ask me
that question he would receive an answer that would prevent him from
repeating it in this world."

"Humpty-dumpty jumped over the wall!" exclaimed the woman with a laugh.
"I knew what you'd say, but I had my reasons for asking the question;
you must go now; and bear in mind," she went on with a sudden display
of feeling, "that the war has made such devil's hags of the women, and
such devil's imps of the men, that everything is in a tangle. You'll
know where you are when you go in the next room. And you must forgive
me. I am Jane Ryder's mother."

And, sure enough, I was in the tavern in the woods, and sitting by the
hearth was Whistling Jim. To say that he was glad to see me would
hardly describe the outward manifestation of his feelings. Someone in
the camp, he didn't know who, had sent him word that he'd find me at
this house, and he had been waiting for more than an hour, the last
half of it with many misgivings. He and Harry had escaped without any
trouble, and my horse had followed them so closely that they thought I
was on his back. But w