The head and shoulders disappeared. A short pause followed, then the
ladder came slowly down, and the Southerner descended, while Virgie
crouched, a sobbing little heap, beside her doll. But when he reached
the bottom rung, she rose to her feet and ran to meet him, weeping
bitterly.

"Oh, Daddy, Daddy, I didn't do it right! I didn't do it right!"

She buried her head in his tattered coat, while he slipped an arm about
her and tried to soothe a sorrow too great for such a tiny heart to
bear.

"But you did do it right," he told her. "It was my fault. Mine! My leg
got cramped, and I had to move." He stooped and kissed her. "It was _my_
fault, honey; but you?--you did it _splendidly_!" He patted her
tear-stained cheek, then turned to his captor, with a grim, hard smile
of resignation to his fate.

"Well, Colonel, you've had a long chase of it; but you've gotten my
brush at last."

The Union soldier faced him, speaking earnestly:

"Captain Cary, you're a brave man--and one of the best scouts in the
Confederate army. I regret this happening--more than I can say." The
Southerner shrugged his shoulders. His Northern captor asked: "Are you
carrying dispatches?"

"No."