Marshall had now one supreme desire with respect to Agatha,—a great yearning to comfort her and help her as a brother might. He told her so, when they returned to the drawing-room after dinner, to sit before the great fire of hickory logs during all the remaining hours of Marshall's stay.
"Tell me now," he said, "of your plans, that I may share in them and help you carry them out perhaps. What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to find Baillie if I can, and nurse him back to health—if it is not too late."
"But he is in the hands of the enemy, you know."
"Yes, I know. That makes it more difficult, but we must not shrink from difficulties. I shall start north to-morrow."
"But how?—Tell me about it, please."
She explained her plans, telling him of the arrangements she had made for bringing medicines through the blockade, transmitting letters, and finding friends at every step in case of need. Then she added:
"I'm going to take Sam with me this time. He is devoted to his master, and his sagacity is extraordinary. I shall depend upon him to help me find where Baillie is, and to do whatever there is to do for him."
"Will you let me have writing materials?" the young man abruptly asked.
Without asking for an explanation, she brought her lap desk, and with the awkwardness which a man always manifests in attempting to use that peculiarly feminine device, he managed to fill two or three sheets. When he had done, he handed the papers to her, saying: