“Well, here are some letters. You won’t be more than able to get back by daylight. Are you too tired to make it to-night, Feliciane?”
“No, sah. Missus ’spects me ter do it.”
“Well, good-bye. Thank your mistress for us, and tell her the boys in gray will soon drive the Yankees out of the city, and she won’t have this to do much longer.”
“I’ll tell huh, sah.”
Jeanne still silent went back to the boat. Every hope that she had held that there was really a wounded brother of Madame’s had died during the interview, and the lady was meeting with that fierce arraignment in the mind of the girl that youth always gives when for the first time the mask of hypocrisy is torn from a loved face.
The dawn was streaking the gray sky with crimson when they reached the city again. The rain had ceased and the stormy night was to be succeeded by a fair day. Jeanne’s face showed white and stern in the gray of the morning as she walked slowly by the black’s side. Her lips were compressed together in a straight line for she had determined that Madame Vance should render an account of her duplicity to her.
Presently Feliciane uttered an exclamation of alarm, and thrust the package that the rebel had given her into Jeanne’s hands.
“Run, missy, run,” she cried. “De Yanks am a-kumin’.”
Involuntarily the girl quickened her steps, but she had gone but a short distance when she was caught by the shoulder, and brought to a standstill.
“You are under arrest,” said the gruff voice of a soldier. “Give me that package you have.”