y but golden sun above;
but something was missing from Richmond, nevertheless. It suddenly
occurred to him that Miss Grayson must be very lonely in her bleak
little cottage.

He went undisturbed by guards to the Secretary's room--the Confederate
Government was never immediately surrounded with bayonets--and knocked
upon the door. A complete absence of state and formality prevailed.

The Secretary was not alone, and Prescott was not surprised. The
President of the Confederacy himself sat near the window, and just
beyond him was Wood, in a great armchair, looking bored. There were
present, too, General Winder, the commander of the forces in the city,
another General or two and members of the Cabinet.

"An inquisition," thought Prescott. "This disappointed Secretary would
ruin me."

The saving thought occurred to him that if he had known of Miss
Catherwood's presence in Richmond Mr. Sefton also had known of it. The
wily Secretary must have in view some other purpose than to betray him,
when by so doing he would also betray himself. Prescott gathered
courage, and saluting, stood respectfully, though in the attitude of one
who sought no favour.

All the men in the room looked at him, some with admiration of the
strong young figure and the open, manly face, others with inquiry. He
wondered that Wood, a man who belonged essentially to the field of
battle, should be there; but the cavalry leader, for his great
achievements, was high in the esteem of the Confederate Government.

It was the Secretary, Mr. Sefton, who spoke, for the others seemed
involuntarily to leave to him subjects requiring craft and guile--a
tribute or not as one chooses to take it.

"The subject upon which we have called you is not new to us nor to you,"
said the Secretary in expressionless tones. "We revert to the question
of a spy--a woman. It is now known that it was a woman who stole the
important papers from the office of the President. The secret service of
General Winder has learned that she has been in this city all the
while--that is, until the last night or two."

He paused here a few moments as if he would mark the effect of his
words, and his eyes and those of Prescott met. Prescott tried to read
what he saw there--to pierce the subconscious depths, and he felt as if
he perceived the soul of this man--a mighty ambition under a silky
exterior, and a character in which a dual nature struggled. Then his
eyes wandered a moment to Wood. Both