y, Margaret!" cheerily cried Mrs. Cameron, reentering the parlour.
"Get ready; we must go at once to the hospital."

Margaret turned and with stately grace hurried from the room. The old
dress she wore as unconscious of its shabbiness as though it were a royal
robe.

"And now, my dear, what must I do to get the passes?" asked the mother
eagerly.

Elsie's warm amber eyes grew misty for a moment, and the fair skin with
its gorgeous rose tints of the North paled. She hesitated, tried to speak,
and was silent.

The sensitive soul of the Southern woman read the message of sorrow words
had not framed.

"Tell me, quickly! The
doctor--has--not--concealed--his--true--condition--from--me?"

"No, he is certain to recover."

"What then?"

"Worse--he is condemned to death by court-martial."

"Condemned to death--a--wounded--prisoner--of--war!" she whispered slowly,
with blanched face.

"Yes, he was accused of violating the rules of war as a guerilla raider in
the invasion of Pennsylvania."

"Absurd and monstrous! He was on General Jeb Stuart's staff and could have
acted only under his orders. He joined the infantry after Stuart's death,
and rose to be a colonel, though but a boy. There's some terrible
mistake!"

"Unless we can obtain his pardon," Elsie went on in even, restrained
tones, "there is no hope. We must appeal to the President."

The mother's lips trembled, and she seemed about to faint.

"Could I see the President?" she asked, recovering herself with an
effort.

"He has just reached Washington from the front, and is thronged by
thousands. It will be difficult."

The mother's lips were moving in silent prayer, and her eyes were tightly
closed to keep back the tears.

"Can you help me, dear?" she asked piteously.

"Yes," was the quick response.

"You see," she went on, "I feel so helpless. I have never been to the
White House or seen the President, and I don't know how to go about seeing
him or how to ask him--and--I am afraid of Mr. Lincoln! I have heard so
many harsh things said of him."

"I'll do my best, Mrs. Cameron. We must go at once to the White House and
try to see him."

The mother lifted the girl's hand and stroked it gently.

"We will not tell Margaret. Poor child! she could not endure this. When we
return, we may have better news. It can't be worse. I'll send her on an
errand."

She took up the bouquet of gorgeous roses with a sigh, buried her face in
the fresh perfume, as if to