Morrison sighed and moved toward the door; but, from its threshold, he
could see his troopers returning at a trot across the fields.

"Wait," he said to Cary; "I'd rather my men shouldn't know I've talked
with you." He pointed to the scuttle in the ceiling. "Would you mind if
I asked you to go back again? Hurry! They are coming."

The captured scout saluted, crossed to the ladder, and began to mount.
At the top he paused to smile and blow a kiss to Virgie, then
disappeared, drew up the ladder after him, and closed the trap.

The captor stood in silence, waiting for his men; yet, while he stood,
the little rebel pattered to his side, slipping her hand in his
confidingly.

"Mr. Yankee," she asked, and looked up into his face, "are you goin' to
let Daddy come to Richmon', too?"

Morrison withdrew his hand from hers--withdrew it sharply--flung himself
into a seat beside the table, and began to scribble on the back of
Virgie's rumpled pass; while the child stood watching, trusting, with
the simple trust of her little mother-heart.

In a moment or two, the troopers came hurrying in, with Corporal Dudley
in the lead. He stood at attention, saluted his superior, and made his
report of failure in the search.

"Nothing sir. No tracks around the spring, and no traces of the fellow
anywhere; but--" He stopped. His keen eyes marked the changed position
of the table and followed upward. He saw the outlines of the scuttle