Dorothea guessed that it was April, and was not surprised when her beautiful cousin came in.
“I must talk to you a moment, Dorothea,” April said, sitting down by the fire. There was something antagonistic in her manner, though Dorothea could not say wherein it was displayed. “I did not hear you say to-night that you had or had not seen anybody outside the house. Did you see any one?” The question was direct and, as she asked it, her eyes fell upon the red band of velvet about Dorothea’s wrist.
Dorothea was at a loss what to reply. She believed that April was demanding an answer to something she knew already and could see no motive for it.
“I had rather not talk about that, April,” she answered at last, with a smile. “Can’t we forget all about it?”
“No,” answered April, “no, we can’t. You must remember, Dorothea, that we are at war. You say your sympathies are with the South. We believe you, but you seem to have evaded a direct question and—and—well, I want to know, so that there will be no doubt in my mind. Did you see someone?”
“Yes, I did,” Dorothea answered. She felt that under any circumstances it would do no harm to the escaping officer if April knew. It was out of her hands now either to help or hinder the poor prisoner.
April’s eyes widened.
“Why did you not tell them?” she demanded.
“Because,” Dorothea replied firmly, “I did not have a chance, in the first place, and, in the second, I was in no hurry to be the means of setting dogs on a man, whoever he might be.”
“You do not understand these things,” April replied. “We have no other way of finding prisoners. But Cousin Imogene said it was one of the negroes.”