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"I think you know Lieutenant Durand?" asked the General, with a quizzical eye.

"That will do. Now, beyond Fayette, about seven miles north, there's a place--"

"Ferry's scouts. What command is yours, gentlemen?"

My problem was indeed simplified. The despatch had been stolen, opened, read, re-sealed and returned. All I now had to do was to lie here till daybreak and then get away if I could, deliver the despatch to Ned Ferry, and tell him--ah! what?--how much? Oh, my bemired soul, how much must I tell? My shame I might bear; I might wash it out in blood at the battle's front; but my perfidy! how much was it perfidy to withhold; how much was it perfidy to confess?

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