fifty or a hundred perhaps, coming by a
devious way, had approached the outer defenses and fired a few shots at
long range. The garrison replied, and then the reckless Yankees galloped
away before they could be caught.

"Very inconsiderate of them," said the Secretary, "disturbing honest
people on a peaceful night like this. Why, it must be at least half-past
two in the morning."

"You will observe, Mr. Redfield," said Prescott, "that the Yankee army
has not got past General Lee, and the city will not belong to the
Yankees before daylight."

"Not a single Yankee soldier ought to be able to come so near to
Richmond," said the Member of Congress.

"Why, this only gives us a little healthy excitement, Mr. Redfield,"
said the Secretary, smoothly; "stirs our blood, so to speak, and teaches
us to be watchful. We really owe those cavalrymen a vote of thanks."

Then putting his hand on Redfield's arm, he drew him away, first bidding
Prescott and Miss Harley a courteous good-night.

A few more steps and they were at Helen's home. Mr. Harley himself, a
tall, white-haired man, with a self-indulgent face singularly like his
son Vincent's, answered the knock, shielding from the wind with one
hand the flame of a fluttering candle held in the other.

He peered into the darkness, and Prescott thought that he perceived a
slight look of disappointment on his face when he saw who had escorted
his daughter home.

"He wishes it had been the Secretary," thought Robert.

"I was apprehensive about you for awhile, Helen," he said, "when I heard
the bell ringing the alarm. It was reported that the Yankees had come."

"They are not here yet," said Prescott, "and we believe it is still a
long road to Richmond."

As he bade Helen good-night at the door, she urged him not to neglect
her while he was in the capital, and her father repeated the invitation
with less warmth. Then the two disappeared within, the door was shut and
Robert turned back into the darkness and the cold.

His own house was within sight, but he had made his mother promise not
to wait for him, and he hoped she was already asleep. Never had he been
more wide awake, and knowing that he should seek sleep in vain, he
strolled down the street, looking about at the dim and silent city.

He gazed up at the dark shaft of the tower whence the bell had rung its
warning, at the dusky mass of the Capitol, at the spire of St. Paul's,
and then down at a flickering figure passing