"If we are you may have sad reason to wish that you had obeyed me this morning," replied her cousin sternly. "You no more understand your folly and danger than a child. Now I'm compelled to look after my prisoners first," and he rushed away.
"Come in my room, Louise," said her aunt. "Whatever happens, it is best that we should be together." The girl was so agitated, fearing that in some way her adventures might be discovered, that she had no occasion to feign alarm. Mrs. Whately sought only to soothe and quiet, also to extenuate her son's words. "I don't suppose we truly realize yet, as Madison does, what war means," she concluded.
Mr. Baron soon sent up word that there was no special occasion for further fears, and that the ladies might sleep, if they could, until morning.
But there was no more sleep for Mad Whately. As soon as he reached the spot where the prisoners had been kept he asked sharply, "Where is that Yankee officer and Perkins?"
The man then on duty answered, "The sergeant I relieved said that you took 'im away, sir, and that the man named Perkins followed you."
"There's been treachery here," cried Whately in a rage. "Bring that sergeant here."
The weary man was half dragged in his sleep to the officer and there thoroughly awakened by a volley of oaths. He stolidly told his story, concluding, "I cud a sworn it was you, and the overseer followed less'n three minutes after you left."
"'I left'—curse you—don't say that again. You've been fooled or was asleep and neglected your duty."
"Well, then, sir," was the dogged reply, "find that overseer who was a watchin' the Yank like a cat. Ast 'im; ast my men ef I wasn't awake en ef I didn't s'lute you soon ez you come. There's the overseer's lantern burnin' yet jis whar he left it."
At this moment Perkins came staggering toward the fire, with both hands to his head as if trying to hold it together. His clothes were muddy, his face was ghastly and he stared at Whately as if the officer was also a part of a horrid dream.