Later that morning she went into the parlor upon some errand, and the sound of low-pitched voices coming from the porch, reached her.
“—and if this expedition against Savannah—” Dorothea was saying when Miss Imogene had interrupted her, with a decided “Hush!”
For April the words held a world of significance, and instinctively she turned and tiptoed away.
Evidently her cousin knew all about the expedition to capture Savannah, and was doing her best to thwart the efforts of the Southern leaders. That was why she was in communication with a Union spy. He was to warn the Federal forces that they were to be attacked. She was preparing to furnish him money and information, using her relationship with them and taking advantage of their hospitality to betray their cause. In her heart April’s anger grew hot at the thought. There was no longer any doubt in her mind about Dorothea’s treachery. She would have denounced her cousin then and there, but now she appreciated that more than this was involved. It had been something of a personal affair heretofore. She had only had a desire to prove her cousin a Northern sympathizer. Now, however, the situation assumed a more serious aspect. If the spy escaped to tell the plans of the attack on Savannah, all the hopes in which she had indulged would be shattered. Therefore she must step carefully and conceal her anger against Dorothea for the sake of capturing the spy. That was the most important object for the time being. What should be done about her cousin’s activities in the Northern interests could come later.
“But how did she hear of it?” April suddenly questioned herself. And an answer popped into her head almost simultaneously. Val was the only one who knew of it. Who else could have told her? And moreover April, wise in the affairs of the heart, guessed that the gay Irish Captain had been more than a little attracted by this handsome English girl who had come among them. Pretty speeches he made to every one, but she had noted again and again the thoughtful way in which his eyes followed Dorothea whenever she was in sight. She remembered that he spoke of her cousin, not in the exaggerated, complimentary way that was his habit, but gently, with words that seemed to come from a sincere reeling. She had anticipated that one day there might be a love affair between them, and she was not one of the selfish beauties who resented any man’s attention to another. She liked Val Tracy, as she did twenty other young fellows who paid their court to her, but she felt no spark of jealousy on Dorothea’s account.
It was not unnatural then that she should jump to the conclusion that Val, trusting the girl, had told her what was afoot, and that Dorothea had been quick to make use of it to warn the Yankees. Val had returned from one of his expeditions but she had no chance to speak to him until after dinner; then she led him out on to the lawn where they could talk in the certainty of not being overheard, but she had seen Dorothea go up to her room and took pains to make sure that she could not leave the house unobserved.
“Now what good deed have I done that I should be thus rewarded?” asked Tracy when he and April were alone.
“It isn’t a time for pretty speeches, Val,” she answered. “The Yankees are going to be warned of our plans to take Savannah!”
He looked at her in amazement for a moment, without speaking, as if he could not believe his ears.
“It’s impossible, April,” he answered. “There aren’t half a dozen people in the world know of it. And two of them are right here. We haven’t even told our officers. It’s impossible!”