hat's about the extent of
my information."

"A Rebel! and the wife of a Rebel!" was Deane's wrathful answer.

Hitherto, what had he not said or done in the way of supporting the
organist?

"A Rebel?" exclaimed the minister, thrown suddenly off his guard.

He might have heard calumny uttered against one under his tender care by
the way that single word burst from him.

"The wife of a Rebel general, and a spy!"

Deane's voice made one think of the Inquisition, and of inevitable
forfeitures, unfailing executions of unrelenting judgments.

"For a spy, she makes poor use of her advantages," said the minister.
"She's never anywhere, that I can learn, except in the church and her
own room."

"I dare say anybody will believe that whom she chooses to _have_ believe
it. How do you or I know what she is? or where? or what she does? We're
not the kind of men for her to take into confidence. She is evidently
shrewd enough to see that it wouldn't be safe to tamper with _us_! But
we must get rid of her, or we shall have the organ demolished and the
church about our ears. Let the mob once suspect that we employ a spy
here to do our music for us, and see what our chance would be! There's
no use asking for proof. There's a young man in my storehouse, a
contraband, who recognized her somewhere in the street this morning, and
_he_ says she is the wife of the Rebel General Edgar; and if it's true,
and there's no question about that, _I_ say she ought to be arrested."

"Pooh! pooh!"--the minister was thrown off his guard, and failed to
estimate aright the kind of patriotism he bluffed off with so little
ceremony;--"the negro"----

"Negro! face as white as mine, Sir! Well, yes, negro, I suppose,--slave,
any way,--do you want him summoned in here? Do you want to see him? He
gives his testimony intelligently enough. Or shall we send for Mrs.
Edgar? For it's high time _she_ were thrown on her own resources,
instead of being maintained at our expense for the benefit of the
enemy."

Precisely as he finished speaking sounded a peal from the great organ,
and Mr. Deane just half understood the look on the minister's face as he
turned from him to listen.

A better understanding would have kept him silent longer; but, unable to
control himself, he said,--

"We're buying that at too high a price. Better go back to drunken
Mallard,--a great sight better. McClellan would tell us so; so would
Jeff Davis."

"What can be done?" asked the m