sked the
Texan.

"Did you ask that question when you betrayed your country?" answered the
Commandant.

"Let me go from camp for an hour. Then I will give you my decision."

"Very well."

And, unattended, the Texan left the prison.

What passed between the young man and the young woman during that hour I
do not know, and could not tell, if I did know,--for I am not writing
romance, but history. However, without lifting the veil on things
sacred, I can say that her last words were, "Do your duty. Blot out your
record of treason." God bless her for saying them! and let "Amen" be
said by every American woman!

On his return to camp, the Texan merely said, "I will do it," and the
details of the plan were talked over. He was to escape from the prison,
ferret out and entrap the Rebel leaders. How to manage the first part of
the dangerous programme was the query of the Texan. The Commandant's
brain is fertile. An adopted citizen, in the scavenger line, makes
periodical visits to the camp in the way of his business, and him the
Commandant sends for.

"Arrah, yer Honor," the Irishman says, "I ha'n't a tr-raitor. Bless yer
beautiful sowl! I love the kintry; and besides, it might damage me good
name and me purty prefession."

He is assured that his name will be all the better for dieting a few
weeks in a dungeon, and--did not the same thing make Harvey Birch
immortal?

Half an hour before sunset the scavenger comes into camp with his wagon.
He fills it with dry bones, broken bottles, decayed food, and the
rubbish of the prison; and down below, under a blanket, he stows away
the Texan. A hundred comrades gather round to shut off the gaze of the
guard; but outside is the real danger. He has to pass two gates, and run
the gauntlet of half a dozen sentinels. His wagon is fuller than usual;
and the late hour it is now after sunset will of itself excite
suspicion. It might test the pluck of a braver man; for the sentries'
bayonets are fixed, and their guns at the half-trigger; but he reaches
the outer gate in safety. Now St. Patrick help him! for he needs all the
impudence of an Irishman. The gate rolls back; the Commandant stands
nervously by, but a sentry cries out,--

"You can't pass; it's agin orders. No wagins kin go out arter
drum-beat."

"Arrah, don't be a fool! Don't be afther obstructin' a honest man's
business," answers the Irishman, pushing on into the gateway.

The soldier is vigilant, for his officer's eye i