“The man I saw was a white man,” Dorothea answered.
“Then he was the one who escaped from Andersonville,” April said, her voice rising a little. “You have helped a Yankee to escape! That is not the action or one who is in sympathy with the South.” Again her eyes sought the red velvet band about Dorothea’s wrist.
“It may have been a Yankee,” Dorothea confessed, calmly. “I certainly thought so.”
“And you were deliberately silent?” April spoke angrily. “You let one of our enemies get away when you might have helped to catch him? I tell you, Dorothea, we can’t stand that. I shall tell Hal; it may not be too late to get word to the men who are searching.” She rose to her feet.
“You are not fair, April,” the other protested, rising also. “What were you doing on the porch? You said nothing of seeing any one any more than I did, and you must have—”
April’s eyes widened in surprise for an instant and then, going close to her cousin, she whispered:
“What was the man like, Dorothea?”
“I only saw his face for a moment but it was very pale and haggard,” Dorothea answered. “His hair was dark and there was a long lock that came down over his forehead. I think, too, that there was a small mole on his cheek, but that might have been a spot of mud. I can’t tell you—”
She stopped abruptly, seeing a great change in her cousin’s face. April had lost her look of anger and in its place there was an expression of profound sorrow, and her beautiful eyes filled with tears.
“I was mistaken, Dorothea,” she faltered, half choking with some hidden emotion. “Forgive me.”