“Miss Hayward, now I recollect that Walker said you must come alone. He declared he would not commit himself by speaking before any one.”
“I dare not go alone!”
“Poor child!” exclaimed Jim, as he wiped his eyes. “Do you think you can be alone when this old soldier, as folks call ‘ugly Jim,’ is near you? I know my face is ugly, but I don’t think my heart is! Besides, you won’t see the wretch himself. You will only talk to him through a crack between the logs, and I shall be as close to you as Walker will allow. Of course he wont let me hear what he says, but I shan’t let you be out of my sight, so there will be no danger!”
“Why can we not go at once?” asked Miss Hayward.
“Because I don’t go on post until twelve o’clock, and the other guard wouldn’t let you speak to him.”
“Then I will come at quarter past twelve. But I shall rely upon you for protection!”
“You may do that, miss. And I really think you do right. I know Walker is a very bad man, but he has got to die, and may be he wants to make a confession to relieve his mind, and to ask your pardon. And I always think it best to give a dying man a chance to relieve his mind, and confess.”
“You may expect me!”
Jim bowed, and left the tent.
Twelve o’clock came; the guard was relieved, and “ugly Jim” had taken the place of his sick friend, in front of Walker’s prison. All was quiet, save the clanking of a chain, a few hurried whispers, and the opening and closing of a heavy door, which sounds were in close proximity to Walker’s dungeon. The words “C. S. A. and Bars” were answered by “Union against Oppression,” and two dark forms glided to concealment beside the thorn hedge, while the guard remained at the door.