me is Lucia Catherwood," he said.

"Yes," she replied, without surprise.

"It does not matter how I knew it," he continued; "it is sufficient that
I do know it. I know also that you are the best nurse Robert Prescott
could have."

Her look met his, and, despite herself, the deep red dyed her face, even
her neck. There was a swift look of admiration on the Secretary's face.
Then he smiled amiably. He had every reason to feel amiable. He realized
now that he had nothing to fear from Prescott's rivalry with Helen
Harley so long as Lucia Catherwood was near. Then why not keep her near?

"You are to be his nurse," he continued, "and you must have the right to
go through our lines, even to Richmond if necessary. Here is a pass for
you."

He took pencil and paper from his pocket and wrote an order which he
handed to her.

The Secretary's next concern was for Harley, and he spoke in low tones
of him to Mrs. Markham and his sister. He had heard of his heroic charge
at a critical moment--of a man rising from his bed of wounds to lead
back his wavering regiment; the army was ringing with it. In the new
republic such a hero should have a great reward. Helen flushed with
pleasure, but Mrs. Markham, shrewder and keener, said nothing. Her own
husband, unhurt, came an hour later, and he was proud of his wife at
work there among the wounded. The Secretary stayed a long while, and
Lucia felt at times that he was watching her with an eye that read her
throughout; but when she saw him looking at Helen Harley she thought she
knew the reason of his complacency. She, too, was acute.

The Secretary brought news of the battle, and as he prophesied that the
next day would be bloodier than the one just closed, he glanced through
the window at the black Wilderness with real awe upon his face.

Lucia followed his look, and despite herself she felt a certain pride.
This general, who struck so hard and never ceased striking, was her
general. She had known that it would be so, but these people about her
had not known it until now. She felt in her heart that the end was
coming, but she knew it would be over the roughest road ever traveled by
a victorious army.

She formed plans, too, as she sat there, and was thankful for the pass
that she concealed in her dress. No matter how it had come, she had it
and it was all-powerful. She did not fear this Secretary whom others
seemed to fear. If necessary she would go to Richmond again, and she
would