“Miss,” he stammered, in an apologetic tone, “if you've got anything to sell, why you'd do better to see the cook. He buys all our provender, and will take your fruit, I'm certain.”
“I wish to see the officer who is in command here,” she continued.
“Bob,” the guard said, “go tell the officer of the day that a lady wishes to see him.”
“The Lieutenant will see the lady at once,” the man said, on his return. Conducting her to a tent, she entered, and saw a very handsome young man, “far handsomer,” she thought, “than Walter.” His brown eyes rested inquiringly upon her as he arose and politely handed her a camp stool. She seated herself, but remained silent. He kindly said—
“Did you wish to see me on any particular matter? I am at your service.”
Helen's heart beat fast. She knew that she was placed in a strange position, but she felt she could endure any unjust comment, so that she could undo the wrong she had done her sister and Walter Ryder.
“Sir, I came to ask you if the young man who was shot yesterday, was killed?” and her voice faltered.
“Ah,” Lieutenant Gordon thought, “she is no simple country girl. Why is she interested in a Union soldier?” The query gave his voice a tinge of bitterness as he made reply—
“He was not, though he deserved death, for he is a Confederate spy.”
“Oh, sir, you are wrong. Believe me, he is no spy, and I will prove it to you, if you will only listen.”