vent-like cell to snatch a few moments of sleep.
Its spotless, peaceful walls and draperies affected him strangely, as if
he had brought into its immaculate serenity the sanguine stain of war.
He was awakened suddenly from a deep slumber by an indefinite sense
of alarm. His first thought was that he had been summoned to repel
an attack. He sat up and listened; everything was silent except the
measured tread of the sentry on the gravel walk below. But the door was
open. He sprang to his feet and slipped into the gallery in time to see
the tall figure of a woman glide before the last moonlit window at its
farthest end. He could not see her face--but the characteristic turbaned
head of the negro race was plainly visible.

He did not care to follow her or even to alarm the guard. If it were the
spy or one of her emissaries, she was powerless now to do any harm, and
under his late orders and the rigorous vigilance of his sentinels she
could not leave the lines--or, indeed, the house. She probably knew
this as well as he did; it was, therefore, no doubt only an accidental
intrusion of one of the servants. He re-entered the room, and stood for
a few moments by the window, looking over the moonlit ridge. The sounds
of distant cannon had long since ceased. Wide awake, and refreshed by
the keen morning air, which alone of all created things seemed to have
shaken the burden of the dreadful yesterday from its dewy wings, he
turned away and lit a candle on the table. As he was rebuckling his
sword belt he saw a piece of paper lying on the foot of the bed from
which he had just risen. Taking it to the candle, he read in a roughly
scrawled hand:

"You are asleep when you should be on the march. You have no time to
lose. Before daybreak the supports of the column you have been foolishly
resisting will be upon you.--From one who would save YOU, but hates your
cause."

A smile of scorn passed his lips. The handwriting was unknown and
evidently disguised. The purport of the message had not alarmed him; but
suddenly a suspicion flashed upon him--that it came from Miss Faulkner!
She had failed in her attempt to pass through the enemy's lines--or she
had never tried to. She had deceived him--or had thought better of her
chivalrous impulse, and now sought to mitigate her second treachery by
this second warning. And he had let her messenger escape him!

He hurriedly descended the stairs. The sound of voices was approaching
him. He halted,