Two days passed, and neither any word nor his gold having come from the Grayson cottage, Prescott began to feel bold again and decided that he would call there openly and talk once more with Miss Grayson. He waited until the night was dusky, skies and stars alike obscured by clouds, and then knocked boldly at the door, which was opened by Miss Grayson herself. “Captain Prescott!” she exclaimed, and he heard a slight rustling in the room. When he entered Miss Catherwood was there. Certainly they had a strange confidence in him.

She did not speak, nor did he, and there was an awkward silence while Miss Grayson stood looking on. Prescott waited for the thanks, the hint of gratitude that he wished to hear, but it was not given; and while he waited he looked at Miss Catherwood with increasing interest, beholding her now in a new phase.

Hitherto she had always seemed to him bold and strong, a woman of more than feminine courage, one with whom it would require all the strength and resource of a man to deal even on the man’s own ground. Now she was of the essence feminine. She sat in a low chair, her figure yielding a little and her face paler than he had ever seen it before. The lines were softened and her whole effect was that of an appeal. She made him think for a moment of Helen Harley.

“I am glad that our soldiers did not find you here when they searched this house,” he said awkwardly.

“You were here with them, Captain Prescott I have heard,” she replied.

The colour rose to his face.

“It was pure chance,” he said. “I did not come here to help them.”

“I do not think that Captain Prescott was assisting in the search,” interposed Miss Grayson. Prescott again looked for some word or sign of gratitude, but did not find it.

“I have wondered, Miss Catherwood, how you hid yourself,” he said.

The shadow of a smile flickered over her pale face.

“Your wonder will have to continue, if it is interesting enough, Captain Prescott,” she replied.

He was silent, and then a sudden flame appeared in her cheeks.

“Why do you come here?” she exclaimed. “Why do you interest yourself in two poor lone women? Why do you try to help them?”

To see her show emotion made him grow cooler.

“I do not know why I come,” he replied candidly.

“Then do not do so any more,” she said. “You are risking too much, and you, a Southern soldier, have no right to do it.”

She spoke coldly now and her face resumed its pallor.

“I am with the North,” she continued, “but I do not wish any one of the South to imperil himself through me.”

Prescott felt hotly indignant that she should talk thus to him after all that he had done.

“My course is my own to choose,” he replied proudly, “and as I told you once before, I do not make war on women.”

Then he asked them what they proposed to do what they expected Miss Catherwood’s future to be.

“If she can’t escape from Richmond, she’ll stay here until General Grant comes to rescue her,” exclaimed the fierce little old maid.

“The Northern army is not far from Richmond, but I fancy that it has a long journey before it, nevertheless,” said Prescott darkly.

Then he was provoked with himself because he had made such a retort to a woman.

“It is not well to grow angry about the war now,” said Miss Catherwood. “Many of us realize this; I do, I know.”

He waited eagerly, hoping that she would tell of herself, who she was and why she was there, but she went no further.

He looked about the room and saw that it was changed; its furniture, always scanty, was now scantier than ever; it occurred to him with a sudden thrill that these missing pieces had gone to a pawnshop in Richmond; then his double eagle had not come too soon, and that was why it never returned to him. All his pity for these two women rose again.

He hesitated, not yet willing to go and not knowing what to say; but while he doubted there came a heavy knock at the door. Miss Grayson, who was still standing, started up and uttered a smothered cry, but Miss Catherwood said nothing, only her pallor deepened.

“What can it mean?” exclaimed Miss Grayson.

No one answered and she added hastily:

“You two must go into the next room!”

She made a gesture so commanding that they obeyed her without a word. Prescott did not realize what he was doing until he heard the door close behind him and saw that he was alone with Miss Catherwood in a little room in which the two women evidently slept. Then as the red blood dyed his brow he turned and would have gone back.

“Miss Catherwood, I do not hide from any one,” he said, all his ingrained pride swelling up.

“It is best, Captain Prescott,” she said quietly. “Not for your sake, but for that of two women whom you would not bring to harm.”

A note of pathetic appeal appeared in her voice, and, hesitating, he was lost. He remained and watched her as she stood there in the centre of the room, her hand resting lightly upon the back of a chair and all her senses alert. The courage, the strength, the masculine power returned suddenly to her, and he had the feeling that he was in the presence of a woman who was the match for any man, even in his own special fields.

She was listening intently, and her figure, instinct with life and strength, seemed poised as if she were about to spring. The pallor in her cheeks was replaced by a glow and her eyes were alight. Here was a woman of fire and passion, a woman to whom danger mattered little, but to whom waiting was hard.

The sound of voices, one short and harsh and the other calm and even, came to them through the thin wall. The composed tones he knew were those of Miss Grayson, and the other, by the accent, the note of command, belonged to an officer. They talked on, but the words were not audible to either in the inner room.

His injured pride returned. It was not necessary for him to hide from any one, and he would go back and face the intruder, whoever he might be. He moved and his foot made a slight sound on the floor. Miss Catherwood turned upon him quickly, even with anger, and held up a warning finger. The gesture was of fierce command, and it said as plain as day, “Be still!” Instinctively he obeyed.

He had no fear for himself; he never thought then of any trouble into which discovery there might lead him, but the unspoken though eager question on his lips was to her: “What will you do if we are found?”

The voices went on, one harsh, commanding, the other calm, even argumentative; but the attitude of the woman beside Prescott never changed. She stood like a lithe panther, tense, waiting.

The harsh voice sank presently as if convinced, and they heard the sound of retreating footsteps, and then the bang of the front door as if slammed in disappointment.

“Now we can go back,” said Miss Catherwood, and opening the door she led the way into the reception room, where Miss Grayson half lay in a chair, deadly pale and collapsed.

“What was it, Charlotte?” asked Miss Catherwood in a protecting voice, laying her hand with a soothing gesture upon Miss Grayson’s head.

Miss Grayson looked up and smiled weakly.

“It lasted just a little too long for my nerves,” she said. “It was, I suppose, what you might call a domiciliary visit. The man was an officer with soldiers, though he had the courtesy to leave the men at the door. He saw a light shining through a front window and thought he ought to search. I’m a suspect, a dangerous woman, you know marked to be watched, and he hoped to make a capture. But I demanded his right, his orders even in war there is a sort of law. I had been searched once, I said, and nothing was found; then it was by the proper authorities, but now he was about to exceed his orders. I insisted so much on my rights, at the same time declaring my innocence, that he became frightened and went away; but, oh, Lucia, I am more frightened now than he ever was!”

Miss Catherwood soothed her and talked to her protectingly and gently, as a mother to her frightened child, while Prescott admired the voice and the touch that could be at once so tender and so strong.

But the courageous half in Miss Grayson’s dual nature soon recovered its rule over the timid half and she sat erect again, making apologies for her collapse.

“You see, now, Captain Prescott,” said Miss Catherwood, still leaving a protecting hand upon Miss Grayson’s shoulders, “that I was right when I wanted you to leave us. We cannot permit you to compromise yourself in our behalf and we do not wish it. You ran a great risk to-night. You might not fare so well the next time.”

Her tone was cold, and, chilled by it, Prescott replied:

“Miss Catherwood, I may have come where I was not wanted, but I shall not do so again.”

He walked toward the door, his head high. Miss Grayson looked at Miss Catherwood in surprise.

The girl raised her hand as if about to make a detaining gesture, but she let it drop again, and without another word Prescott passed out of the house.

One of the formal receptions, occurring twice a month, was held the next evening by the President of the Confederacy and his wife. Prescott and all whom he knew were there.

The parlours were crowded already with people officers, civilians, curious transatlantic visitors and more than one workman in his rough coat, for all the world was asked to come to the President’s official receptions. They had obeyed the order, too, and came with their bravest faces and bravest apparel. In the White House of the Confederacy there were few somber touches that night.

The President and his wife, he elderly and severe of countenance, she young and mild, received in one of the parlours all who would shake the hand of Mr. Davis. It was singularly like a reception at that other White House on the Potomac, and the South, in declaring that she would act by herself, still followed the old patterns.

It was a varied gathering, varied in appearance, manners and temper. The official and civil society of the capital never coalesced well. The old families of Richmond, interwoven with nearly three centuries of life in Virginia, did not like all these new people coming merely with the stamp of the Government upon them, which was often, so they thought, no stamp at all; but with the ceaseless and increasing pressure from the North they met now on common ground at the President’s official reception, mingling without constraint.

Prescott danced three times with Helen Harley and walked twice with her in the halls. She was at her best that night, beautiful in a gentle, delicate way, but she did not whip his blood like a wind from the hills, and he was surprised to find how little bitterness he felt when he saw her dancing with Mr. Sefton or walking with the great cavalry General like a rose in the shadow of an oak. But he loved her, he told himself again; she was the one perfect woman in the world, the one whom he must make his wife, if he could. These men were not to be blamed for loving her, too; they could not help it.

Then his eye roved to Colonel Harley, who, unlike General Wood, was as much at home here as in the field, his form expanding, his face in a glow, paying assiduous attention to Mrs. Markham, who used him as she would. He watched them a little, and, though he liked Mrs. Markham, he reflected that he would not be quite so complacent if he were in General Markham’s place.

Presently Talbot tapped him on the shoulder, saying:

“Come outside.”

“Why should I go out into the cold?” replied Prescott. “I’m not going to fight a duel with you.”

“No, but you’re going to smoke a cigar with me, a genuine Havana at that, a chance that you may not have again until this war ends. A friend just gave them to me. They came on a blockade runner last week by way of Charleston.”

They walked back and forth to keep themselves warm. A number of people, drawn by the lights and the music, were lingering in the street before the house, despite the cold. They were orderly and quiet, not complaining because others were in the warmth and light while they were in the cold and dark. Richmond under the pressure of war was full of want and suffering, but she bred no mobs.

“Let’s go back,” said Talbot presently. “My cigar is about finished and I’m due for this dance with Mrs. Markham.”

“Mine’s not,” replied Prescott, “and I’m not due for the dance with anybody, so I think I’ll stay a little longer.”

“All right; I must go.”

Talbot went in, leaving his friend alone beside the house. Prescott continued to smoke the unfinished cigar, but that was not his reason for staying. He remained motionless at least five minutes, then he threw the cigar butt on the ground and moved farther along the side of the house, where he was wholly in shadow. His pretense of calm, of a lack of interest, was gone. His muscles were alert and his eye keen to see. He had on his military cap and he drew his cloak very closely about him until it shrouded his whole face and figure. He might pass unnoticed in a crowd.

Making a little circuit, he entered the street lower down, and then came back toward the house, sauntering as if he were a casual looker-on. No one noticed him, and he slid into a place in the little crowd, where he stood for a few moments, then made his way toward a tall figure near the fence.

When he was beside the house with Talbot he had seen that face under a black hood, looking over the fence, and the single glance was sufficient. Now he stood beside her and put his hand upon her arm as if he had come there with her, that no one might take notice.

She started, looked up into his face, checked a cry and was silent, though he could feel the arm quivering under the touch of his fingers.

“Why are you here?” he asked in a strained whisper. “Do you not know better than to leave Miss Grayson’s house, and, above all, to come to this place? Are you a mad woman?”

Anger was mixed with his alarm. She seemed at that moment a child who had disobeyed him. She shrank a little at his words, but turned toward him luminous eyes, in which the appeal soon gave way to an indignant fire.

“Do you know what it is to stay in hiding to be confined within the four walls of one room?” she said, and her voice was more intense even than his had been. “Do you know what it is to sit in the dark and the cold when you love the warmth and the light and the music? I saw you and the other man and the satisfaction on your faces. Do you think that you alone were made for enjoyment?”

Prescott looked at her in surprise, such was the fire and intensity of her tone and so unexpected was her reply. He had associated her with other fields of action, more strenuous phases of life than this of the ballroom, the dance and the liquid flow of music. All at once he remembered that she was a woman like another woman there in the ballroom in silken skirts and with a rose in her hair. Unconsciously he placed her by the side of Helen Harley.

“But the danger!” he said at last. “You are hunted, woman though you are, and Richmond is small. At such a time as this every strange form is noted.”

“I am not afraid,” she replied, and a peculiar kind of pride rang in her tone. “If I am sought as a criminal it does not follow that I am such.”

“And you have left Miss Grayson alone?”

“Miss Grayson has often been alone. She may dislike loneliness, but she does not fear it. Listen, they are dancing again!”

The liquid melody of the music rose in a rippling flow, coming through the closed windows in soft minor chords. Standing there beside her, in the outer darkness and cold, Prescott began to understand the girl’s feeling, the feeling of the hunted, who looks upon ease and joy. The house was gleaming with lights, even the measured tread of the dancers mingled with the flow of music; but here, outside, the wind began to whistle icily down the street, and the girl bent her head to its edge.

“You must go back at once to Miss Grayson’s,” urged Prescott, “and you must not come out again like this.”

“You command merely for me to disobey,” she said coolly. “By what right do you seek to direct my actions?”

“By the right of wisdom, or necessity, whichever you choose to call it,” he replied. “Since you will not, of your own choice, care for yourself, I shall try to make you do so. Come!”

He put his hand upon her again. She sought to draw away, but he would not let go, and gradually she yielded.

“What a great thing is brute force! at least, you men think so,” she said, as they walked slowly up the street.

“Yes, when properly exerted, as in the present instance.”

They went on, the lights in the house became dimmer, and the sound of the music and the tread of the dance reached them no more.

She looked up into his face presently.

“Tell me one thing,” she said.

“Certainly.”

“Who is Helen?”

“Who is Helen?”

“Yes, I heard that man say how well she was looking to-night, and you agreed.”

“We were both right. Helen is Miss Helen Harley, and they say she is the most beautiful woman in Richmond. She is the sister of Colonel Harley, one of our noted cavalry leaders.”

She was silent for a little while, and then Prescott said:

“Now will you answer a question of mine?”

“I should like to hear the question first.”

“Where were you hidden when we searched Miss Grayson’s house?”

“That I will never tell you,” she replied with sudden energy.

“Oh, well, don’t do it then,” he said in some disappointment.

They were now three or four squares away from the presidential mansion and were clothed in darkness, and silence save when the frozen snow crackled crisply under their feet.

“You cannot go any farther with me,” she said. “I have warned you before that you must not risk yourself in my behalf.”

“But if I choose to do so, nevertheless.”

“Then I shall go back there to the house, where they are dancing.”

She spoke in such a resolute tone that Prescott could not doubt her intent.

“If you promise to return at once to Miss Grayson’s cottage I shall leave you here,” he said.

“I make the promise, but for the present only,” she replied. “You must remember that we are enemies; you are of the South, and I am treated as an enemy in Richmond. Good-night!”

She left him so quickly that he did not realize her departure until he saw her form flicker in the darkness and then disappear completely. A faint smile appeared on his face.

“No woman can ever successfully play the rôle of a man,” he said to himself. Despite her former denial and her air of truth he was still thinking of her as a spy.

Then he walked thoughtfully back to the presidential mansion.

“You must have found that a most interesting cigar,” said Talbot to him when he returned to the house.

“The most interesting one I ever smoked,” replied Prescott.

Prescott found himself again with Mrs. Markham and walked with her into one of the smaller parlours, where Mr. Sefton, Winthrop, Raymond, Redfield and others were discussing a topic with an appearance of great earnestness.

“It is certainly a mystery, one of the most remarkable that I have ever encountered,” said the Secretary with emphasis, as Prescott and Mrs. Markham joined them. “We are sure that it was a woman, a woman in a brown cloak and brown dress, and that she is yet in Richmond, but we are sure of nothing else. So far as our efforts are concerned, she might as well be in St. Petersburg as here in the capital city of the South. Perhaps the military can give us a suggestion. What do you think of it, Captain Prescott?”

He turned his keen, cold eye on Prescott, who never quivered.

“I, Mr. Sefton?” he replied. “I have no thoughts at all upon such a subject; for two reasons: first, my training as a soldier tells me to let alone affairs which are not my own; and second, you say this spy is a woman; know then that it is the prayer of every soldier that God will preserve him from any military duty which has to do with a woman, as it means sure defeat.”

There was a laugh, and Mrs. Markham asked:

“Do you mean the second of your reasons as truth or as a mere compliment to my sex?”

“Madam,” replied Prescott with a bow, “you are a living illustration of the fact that I could mean the truth only.”

“But to return to the question of the spy,” said Mr. Sefton, tenaciously, “have you really no opinion, Captain Prescott? I have heard that you assisted Mr. Talbot when he was detailed to search Miss Grayson’s house a most commendable piece of zeal on your part and I thought it showed your great interest in the matter.”

“Captain Prescott,” said Mrs. Markham, “I am surprised at you. You really helped in the searching of Miss Grayson’s house! The idea of a soldier doing such work when he doesn’t have to!”

Prescott laughed lightly a cloak for his real feelings as Mrs. Markham’s frank criticism stung him a little.

“It was pure chance, Mrs. Markham. I happened to be near there when Talbot passed with his detail, and as he and I are the best of friends, I went with him wholly out of curiosity, I assure you not the best of motives, I am willing to admit.”

“Then I am to imply, Mrs. Markham,” said the Secretary in his smooth voice, “that you condemn me for instituting such a search. But the ladies, if you will pardon me for saying it, are the most zealous upholders of the war, and now I ask you how are we men to carry it on if we do not take warlike measures.”

She shrugged her shoulders and the Secretary turned his attention again to Prescott.

“What do you think of our chances of capture, Captain?” he said. “Shall we take this woman?”

“I don’t think so,” replied Prescott, meeting the Secretary’s eye squarely. “First, you have no clue beyond the appearance of a woman wearing a certain style of costume in the Government building on a certain day. You have made no progress whatever beyond that. Now, whoever this woman may be, she must be very clever, and I should think, too, that she has friends in the city who are helping her.”

“Then,” said the Secretary, “we must discover her friends and reach her through them.”

“How do you propose going about it?” asked Prescott calmly.

“I have not made any arrangements yet, nor can I say that I have a settled plan in view,” replied the Secretary; “but I feel sure of myself. A city of forty thousand inhabitants is not hard to watch, and whoever this spy’s friends are I shall find them sooner or later.”

His cold, keen eyes rested upon Prescott, but they were without expression. Nevertheless, a chill struck the young Captain to the marrow. Did the Secretary know, or were his words mere chance? He recognized with startling force that he was face to face with a man of craft and guile, one who regarded him as a rival in a matter that lay very close to the heart’s desire, and therefore as a probable enemy.

But cold and keen as was the look of the Secretary, Prescott could read nothing in his face, and whether a challenge was intended or not he resolved to pick up the glove. There was something stubborn lying at the bottom of his nature, and confronted thus by formidable obstacles he resolved to protect Lucia Catherwood if it lay within his power.

General Wood, a look of discontent on his face, entered the room at this moment. An electrical current of antagonism seemed to pass between him and the Secretary, which Mrs. Markham, perhaps from an impulse of mischief and perhaps from a natural love of sport, fostered, permitting Prescott, to his relief, to retire into the background.

The Secretary’s manner was smooth, silky and smiling; he never raised his voice above its natural pitch nor betrayed otherwise the slightest temper. He now led the talk upon the army, and gently insinuated that whatever misfortunes had befallen the Confederacy were due to its military arm; perhaps to a lack of concord among the generals, perhaps to hasty and imperfect judgment on the field, or perhaps to a failure to carry out the complete wishes of the Executive Department.

He did not say any of these things plainly, merely hinting them in the mildest manner. Prescott, though a representative of the army, did not take any of it to himself, knowing well that it was intended for the General, and he watched curiously to see how the latter would reply.

The General surprised him, developing a tact and self-command, a knowledge of finesse that he would not have believed possible in a rough and uneducated mountaineer. But the same quality, the wonderful perception, or rather intuition, that had made Wood a military genius, was serving him here, and though he perceived at once the drift of the Secretary’s remarks and their intention, he preserved his coolness and contented himself for awhile with apparent ignorance. This, however, did not check the attack, and by and by Wood, too, began to deal in veiled allusions and to talk of a great general and devoted lieutenants hampered by men who sat in their chairs in a comfortable building before glowing fires and gossiped of faults committed by others amid the reek of desperate fields.

It was four o’clock in the morning when Prescott stood again in the street in the darkness and saw the Secretary taking Helen home in his carriage.