he Secretary indicating the way, which was
not that by which Prescott had come. They passed through a large office
and here Prescott saw many clerks at work at little desks, four women
among them. Helen Harley was one of the four. She was copying papers,
her head bent down, her brown hair low on her forehead, unconscious of
her observers.

In her simple gray dress she looked not less beautiful than on that day
when, in lilac and rose, drawing every eye, she received General Morgan.
She did not see them as they entered, for her head remained low and the
wintry sunshine from the window gleamed across her brown hair.

The Secretary glanced at her casually, as it were, but Prescott saw a
passing look on his face that he could translate into nothing but
triumphant proprietorship. Mr. Sefton was feeling more confident since
the examination in the room above.

"She works well," he said laconically.

"I expected as much," said Prescott.

"It is not true that people of families used to an easy life cannot
become efficient when hardship arrives," continued the Secretary. "Often
they bring great zeal to their new duties."

Evidently he was a man who demanded rigid service, as the clerks who saw
him bent lower to their task, but Helen did not notice the two until
they were about to pass through a far door. Her cheeks reddened as they
went out, for it hurt her pride that Prescott should see her there--a
mere clerk, honest and ennobling though she knew work to be.

The press of Richmond was not without enterprise even in those days of
war and want, and it was seldom lacking in interest. If not news, then
the pungent comment and criticism of Raymond and Winthrop were sure to
find attentive readers, and on the day following Prescott's interview
with the Secretary they furnished to their readers an uncommonly
attractive story.

It had been discovered that the spy who stole the papers was a beautiful
woman--a young Amazon of wonderful charms. She had been concealed in
Richmond all the while--perhaps she might be in the city yet--and it was
reported that a young Confederate officer, yielding to her fascinations,
had hidden and helped her at the risk of his own ruin.

Here, indeed, was a story full of mystery and attraction; the city
throbbed with it, and all voices were by no means condemnatory. It is a
singular fact that in war people develop an extremely sentimental side,
as if to atone for the harsher impulses that carry them