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"I am his clerk." In the car a flash of joy and then great decorum.

"Hi! there goes one of them!--Halt!--Halt, you blue--" pop!--pop!--pop!

"Guess I'm the first Yankee y' ever caught, ain't I?" His smile was superior, but congratulatory.

"The horse may have to save you," drawled the Arkansan.

"Ferry's scouts." He scrutinized me. "What command do you say you--"

"Who don't belong to Ferry's scouts at all," I still more sweetly added.

As I say, I slept. The door between me and the hall had a lock, but no key; another door, letting from my room to the room in front of it, had no lock, but was bolted. I slept heavily and for an hour or more. Then I was aware of something being moved--slowly--slyly--by littles--under my pillow. The pillow was in a case of new unbleached cotton. When I first lay down, the cotton had so smelt of its newness that I thought it was enough, of itself, to keep me awake. Now this odor was veiled by another; a delicate perfume; a perfume I knew, and which brought again to me all the incidents of the night, and all their woe. I looked, and there, so close to the bedside that she could see my eyes as plainly as I saw hers, stood Coralie Rothvelt. In the door that opened into the hall were two young officers, staff swells, in the handsomest Federal blue. The moonlight lay in a broad flood between them and me. It silvered Miss Rothvelt from the crown of her hat to the floor, and brightened the earnest animation of her lovely face as she daintily tiptoed backward with one hand delicately poised in the air behind her, and the other still in the last pose of withdrawing from under the pillow--empty!

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