s, but this I will say,
that I have never knowingly done anything that I thought would cause the
Confederacy harm; while, on the contrary, I have done all I could--so
far as my knowledge went--that would do it good."

As he spoke he glanced away from the Secretary toward the others, and he
thought he saw the shadow of a smile on the face of the President. What
did it mean? He was conscious again of the blood flushing to his face.
It was the President himself who next spoke.

"Do you know where this woman is, Captain Prescott?" he asked.

"No, I do not know where she is," he replied, thankful that the question
had come in such a form.

Wood, the mountaineer, moved impatiently. He was of an impetuous
disposition, untrammeled by rule, and he stood in awe of nobody.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I can't exactly see the drift of all this talk.
I'd as soon believe that any of us would be a traitor as Captain
Prescott, an' I don't think we've got much time to waste on matters like
this. Grant's a-comin'. I tell you, gentlemen, we've got to think of
meetin' him and not of huntin' for a woman spy."

He spoke with emphasis, and again Prescott shot him another swift and
grateful glance.

"There is no question of treason, General Wood," said Mr. Sefton
placidly. "None of us would wrong Captain Prescott by imputing to him
such a crime. I merely suggested an unconscious motive that might have
made him deflect for a moment, and for a moment only, from the straight
and narrow path of duty."

Prescott saw a cruel light in the Secretary's eyes and behind it a
suggestion of enjoyment in the power to make men laugh or quiver as he
wished; but he did not flinch, merely repeating:

"I have done my duty to the Confederacy as best I could, and I am ready
to do it again. Even the children among us know that a great battle is
coming, and I ask that I be permitted again to show my loyalty at the
front."

"Good words from a good man," exclaimed Wood.

"General," said the President quietly, "comments either for or against
are not conducive to the progress of an examination."

Wood took the rebuke in good part, lifted a ruler from the table and
with an imaginary pocket-knife began to trim long shavings from it.

Prescott, despite his feeling that he had done no moral wrong--though
technically and in a military sense he had sinned--could not escape the
sensation of being on trial as a criminal, and his heart rose up in
indignant wrath. Thos