“Why, no, Uncle Matthew; don’t you remember he was finding fault with our secret agents because they had not established her identity––in fact, had only circumstantial evidence that it was a woman, though very positive evidence that the person belonged to the higher social circle there.”
“Faith, I should think the higher circle would be in a sorry whirl just then––not knowing which of your neighbors at dinner had a cup or dagger for you.”
“The daggers were only figurative,” said the Judge, “but they were none the less dangerous, and the shame of it! each innocent loyal Southerner convinced that a traitor had been made as one of themselves––trusted as is the nature of Southerners when dealing with friends, just as if, in this Eden-like abode, Mistress McVeigh should be entertaining in any one of us, supposed to be loyal Southerners, a traitor to his country.”
“How dreadful to imagine!” said Judithe, with a little gesture of horror, “and what do they do with them––those dangerous serpents of Eden?”
“It isn’t nice at all to hear about, Madame Caron,” spoke Aunt Sajane, who was, as usual, occupied with the unlovely knitting. “It gave me chills to hear Phil Masterson say how that spy would be treated when found––not even given time for prayers!”
“Captain Masterson is most loyal and zealous, but given to slight extravagancies in such matters,” amended the Judge. “No woman has ever suffered the extreme penalty of military law for spy work, in this country, and especially 232 would it be impossible in the South. Imprisonment indefinitely and the probable confiscation of all property would no doubt be the sentence if, as in this suspected case, the traitoress were a Southern woman of means. But that seems scarcely credible. I have heard of the affair mentioned, but I refuse to believe any daughter of the South would so employ herself.”
“Thank you, Judge,” said Gertrude, very prettily; “any daughter of the South would die of shame from the very suspicion against her.”
“Who is to die?” asked Mrs. McVeigh, coming in; “all of you, and of hunger, perhaps, if I delay tea any longer. Come right on into the dining room, please, and let me hear this discussion of Southern daughters, for I chance to be a daughter of the South myself.”
Captain Philip Masterson, from an adjoining plantation, arrived after they were seated at the table, and was taken at once into the dining room, where Judithe regarded with interest this extremist who would not allow a secret agent of the North time for prayers. He did not look very ferocious, though his manner had a bluntness not usual in the Southern men she had met––a soldier above and beyond everything else, intelligent, but not broad, good looking with the good looks of dark, curly hair, a high color, heavy mustache, which he had a weakness for caressing as he talked, and full, bold eyes roaming about promiscuously and taking entire advantage of the freedom granted him at the Terrace, where he had been received as neighbor since boyhood. He was a cousin of Gertrude’s, and it was not difficult to see that she was the first lady in the county to him, and the county was the center of Philip Masterson’s universe.