looked at Chad.

"There are two rebels at General Dean's house to-night," he said,
quietly. "One of them, I am told---why, he must be that boy's brother,"
and again the General mused; then he added, sharply:

"Take six good men out there right away and capture them. And watch out
for Daws Dillon and his band of cut-throats. I am told he is in this
region. I've sent a company after him. But you capture the two at
General Dean's."

"Yes, sir," said Chad, turning quickly, but the General had seen the
lad's face grow pale.

"It is very strange down here--they may be his best friends," he
thought, and, being a kindhearted man, he reached out his hand toward a
bell to summon Chad back, and drew it in again.

"I cannot help that; but that boy must have good stuff in him."

Harry was waiting for him outside. He knew that Dan would go home if it
was possible, and what Chad's mission must be.

"Don't hurt him, Chad."

"You don't have to ask that," answered Chad, sadly.

. . . . .

So Chad's old enemy, Daws Dillon, was abroad. There was a big man with
the boy at the Deans', General Ward had said, but Chad little guessed
that it was another old acquaintance, Rebel Jerry Dillon, who, at that
hour, was having his supper brought out to the stable to him, saying
that he would sleep there, take care of the horses, and keep on the
look-out for Yankees. Jerome Conners's hand must be in this, Chad
thought, for he never for a moment doubted that the overseer had
brought the news to General Ward. He was playing a fine game of loyalty
to both sides, that overseer, and Chad grimly made up his mind that,
from one side or the other, his day would come. And this was the
fortune of war--to be trotting, at the head of six men, on such a
mission, along a road that, at every turn, on every little hill, and
almost in every fence-corner, was stored with happy memories for him;
to force entrance as an enemy under a roof that had showered courtesy
and kindness down on him like rain, that in all the world was most
sacred to him; to bring death to an old playmate, the brother of the
woman whom he loved, or capture, which might mean a worse death in a
loathsome prison. He thought of that dawn when he drove home after the
dance at the Hunts' with the old Major asleep at his side and his heart
almost bursting with high hope and happiness, and he ran his hand over
his eyes to brush the memory away. He must think only of his duty now,
and that du