"Do you think all the virtues belong north of Mason and Dixon's line?" retorted Nancy hotly. "For shame!"
"I beg your pardon," the old surgeon bowed toward her with stately courtesy. "Do be reasonable, child. This operation I am to perform means not only life to the patient, but much to science. Besides, I doubt if the authorities would allow me to leave Washington to-day. Now, your plans for leaving the city are already made; therefore it will be a very simple, easy matter for you to carry those papers into Virginia. You will run little risk..."
"I am not hesitating on that score," broke in Nancy. "I would give my life gladly for the 'bonnie blue flag'—in the open. It is the underhand methods—the spying—the deceit—that burn like a red-hot coal." Nancy paused; then continued more quietly: "There is such a word as 'honor'." She drew out another slip of paper from the bosom of her dress and tossed it, together with the paper already in her hand, on the table. "You must find another messenger."
"Missy, Missy, what yo' talkin' 'bout?" Nancy and the doctor both started. They had forgotten Sam's presence. "Is yo' goin' back on yo' gibben word—yo'—a Newton?"
The girl's face whitened. She started to speak, but the negro gave her no opportunity to do so.
"Has yo' done forgot dat Sunday night?" he asked, leaning forward across the table in his earnestness. "Dat night when I fotched yo' from Newton Manor to Massa's bedside?" His voice deepened, the musical voice of the emotional African.
In Nancy's mind distinct and vivid rose the memory of that wild ride through the night to her father, the gay, handsome father whom she idolized. Then, in thought, she again knelt beside the rude bed in the silent tent, clinging to a feeble hand which had not the strength to return her pressure.
"Missy," Sam's voice brought her back to the present, "Massa done brunged yo' up ter ride, an' shoot, an' swim 'kase he wanted a boy so bad. He wore shot leadin' a charge ag'in de Yanks, an' when de gen'ral cum later ter say how bad he feel ter lose Massa, he jes' said: 'Ah wish Ah haid uh son ter take ma place in de ranks.'" The negro paused, then continued slowly: "When yo' an' I got dar, Missy, de Massa wore mos' gone, but he say ter yo': 'Doan cry, dear, de fightin' Newtons allus die wid de boots on—an' so die happy.' An' den he raise hissef up uh li'le an' gasp: 'Ah gib yo' ter de Cause—swear to uphold de honoh ob Virginny—ter repel invasion—swear——'" Sam raised his right hand solemnly. "An' yo' swore dat oath on de Crucifix, Missy, on de Crucifix—in a dyin' man's han'."
Sam's accusing eyes held Nancy spellbound. Mechanically she readjusted her wig. Quickly her right hand sought the papers lying on the table, and before either of the men realized her intention she had slipped from the room and was gone.