and recognized the faces of the brigade surgeon and one
of his aides-de-camp.

"We were hesitating whether to disturb you, general, but it may be an
affair of some importance. Under your orders a negro woman was just
now challenged stealing out of the lines. Attempting to escape, she was
chased, there was a struggle and scramble over the wall, and she fell,
striking her head. She was brought into the guardhouse unconscious."

"Very good. I will see her," said Brant, with a feeling of relief.

"One moment, general. We thought you would perhaps prefer to see her
alone," said the surgeon, "for when I endeavored to bring her to, and
was sponging her face and head to discover her injuries, her color came
off! She was a white woman--stained and disguised as a mulatto."

For an instant Brant's heart sank. It was Miss Faulkner.

"Did you recognize her?" he said, glancing from the one to the other.
"Have you seen her here before?"

"No, sir," replied the aide-de-camp. "But she seemed to be quite a
superior woman--a lady, I should say."

Brant breathed more freely.

"Where is she now?" he asked.

"In the guardhouse. We thought it better not to bring her into hospital,
among the men, until we had your orders."

"You have done well," returned Brant gravely. "And you will keep this to
yourselves for the present; but see that she is brought here quietly and
with as little publicity as possible. Put her in my room above, which I
give up to her and any necessary attendant. But you will look carefully
after her, doctor,"--he turned to the surgeon,--"and when she recovers
consciousness let me know."

He moved away. Although attaching little importance to the mysterious
message, whether sent by Miss Faulkner or emanating from the stranger
herself, which, he reasoned, was based only upon a knowledge of the
original plan of attack, he nevertheless quickly dispatched a small
scouting party in the direction from which the attack might come, with
orders to fall back and report at once. With a certain half irony of
recollection he had selected Jim Hooker to accompany the party as a
volunteer. This done, he returned to the gallery. The surgeon met him at
the door.

"The indications of concussion are passing away," he said, "but she
seems to be suffering from the exhaustion following some great nervous
excitement. You may go in--she may rally from it at any moment."

With the artificial step and mysterious hush of the ordinary visi