ee their loved
faces, kneel and kiss his mother's hand, pray God to forgive him, he
could go away believing that he had undone the spell and revoked the
malediction of his early youth. It was hazardous, but worth the danger.
He could go in peace and sin no more towards mother, at least; and then
if she mourned and missed him, could he not find it out some day and
make himself known to her after his discharge? He slipped out of camp,
leaving his boots behind, and wearing his light Apache moccasins and
flannel shirt and trousers. Danger to himself he had no great fear of.
If by any chance mother or sister should wake, he had but to stretch
forth his hand and say, "It is only I,--Fred." Danger to _them_ he never
dreamed of.

Strong and athletic, despite his slender frame, he easily lifted the
ladder from Jerrold's fence, and, dodging the sentry when he spied him
at the gate, finally took it down back of the colonel's and raised it to
a rear window. By the strangest chance the window was closed, and he
could not budge it. Then he heard the challenge of a sentry around on
the east front, and had just time to slip down and lower the ladder when
he heard the rattle of a sword and knew it must be the officer of the
day. There was no time to carry off the ladder. He left it lying where
it was, and sprang down the steps towards the station. Soon he heard
Number Five challenge, and knew the officer had passed on: he waited
some time, but nothing occurred to indicate that the ladder was
discovered, and then, plucking up courage and with a muttered prayer for
guidance and protection, he stole up-hill again, raised the ladder to
the west wall, noiselessly ascended, peered in Alice's window and could
see a faint night-light burning in the hall beyond, but that all was
darkness there, stole around on the roof of the piazza to the hall
window, stepped noiselessly upon the sill, climbed over the lowered
sash, and found himself midway between the rooms. He could hear the
colonel's placid snoring and the regular breathing of the other
sleepers. No time was to be lost. Shading the little night-lamp with one
hand, he entered the open door, stole to the bedside, took one long look
at his mother's face, knelt, breathed upon, but barely brushed with his
trembling lips, the queenly white hand that lay upon the coverlet,
poured forth one brief prayer to God for protection and blessing for her
and forgiveness for him, retraced his steps, and caugh