a great general and devoted lieutenants
hampered by men who sat in their chairs in a comfortable building before
glowing fires and gossiped of faults committed by others amid the reek
of desperate fields.

It was four o'clock in the morning when Prescott stood again in the
street in the darkness and saw the Secretary taking Helen home in his
carriage.

CHAPTER X

FEEDING THE HUNGRY

"It is now the gossip in Richmond," said Mrs. Prescott to her son as
they sat together before the fire a day or two later, "that General Wood
makes an unusually long stay here for a man who loves the saddle and war
as he does."

"Who says so, mother?"

"Well, many people."

"Who, for instance?"

"Well, the Secretary, Mr. Sefton, as a most shining instance, and he is
a man of such acute perceptions that he ought to know."

Prescott was silent.

"They say that Mr. Sefton wants something that somebody else wants," she
continued. "A while back it was another person whom he regarded as the
opponent to his wish, but now he seems to have transferred the rivalry
to General Wood. I wonder if he is right."

She gazed over her knitting needles into the fire as if she would read
the answer in the coals, but Prescott himself did not assist her, though
he wondered at what his mother was aiming. Was she seeking to arouse him
to greater vigour in his suit? Well, he loved Helen Harley, and he had
loved her ever since they were little boy and little girl together, but
that was no reason why he should shout his love to all Richmond. Sefton
and Wood might shout theirs, but perhaps he should fare better if he
were more quiet.

Lonely and abstracted, Prescott wandered about the city that evening,
and when the hour seemed suitable, bending his head to the northern
blast, he turned willing steps once more to the little house in the
cross street, wondering meanwhile what its two inmates were doing and
how they fared.

As he went along and heard the wind moaning among the houses he had the
feeling that he was watched. He looked ahead and saw nothing; he looked
back and saw nothing; then he told himself it was only the wind rattling
among loose boards, but his fancy refused to credit his own words. This
feeling that he was watched, spied upon, had been with him several days,
but he did not realize it fully until the present moment, when he was
again upon a delicate errand, one perhaps involving a bit of
unfaithfulness to the cause for which