odville.

As the cook withdrew on his mission he left open the door of the
dining-room and they heard the sound of a voice, uplifted in a
thunderous roar. The cook hurried back, the untouched plate in his hand
and his face a little pale.

"He cursed me, sir," he said to Colonel Winchester. "I was never cursed
so before by anybody. He said he would not touch the food. He was sure
that it had been poisoned by the Yankees, and even if it were not he'd
rather die than accept anything from their hands."

Colonel Winchester laughed rather awkwardly.

"At any rate, we've tendered our good offices," he said. "I suppose his
daughter will attend to his wants, and we'll not expose ourselves to
further insults."

But the refusal had affected the spirits of them all, and as soon as
their hunger was satisfied they withdrew. The soldier who had acted as
cook was directed to put the dining-room back in order and then he might
sleep in a room near the kitchen.

Dick and Warner returned to their own apartment. Neither had much to
say, and Warner, lying down on the bed, was soon fast asleep. Dick
sat by the window. The town was now almost lost in the obscurity. The
exhausted army slept, and the occasional glitter from the bayonet of a
sentinel was almost the only thing that told of its presence.

Dick was troubled. In spite of will and reason, his conscience hurt
him. Theory was beautiful, but it was often shivered by practice. His
sympathies were strongly with the old colonel who had cursed him so
violently and the grim old maid who had given them only harsh words.
Besides, he had pleasant memories of Victor Woodville, and these were
his uncle and cousin.

He sat for a long time at the window. The house was absolutely quiet,
and he was sure that everybody was asleep. There could be no doubt about
Warner, because he slumbered audibly. But Dick was still wide awake.
There was some tension of mind or muscle that kept sleep far from him.
So he remained at the window, casting up the events of the day and those
that might come.

The evening was well advanced when he was quite sure that he heard a
light step in the hall. He would have paid little attention to it at an
ordinary time, but, in all that silence and desolation, it called
him like a drum-beat. Only a light step, and yet it filled him with
suspicion and alarm. He was in the heart of a great and victorious
Union army, but at the moment he felt that anything could happen in t