"It was _my_ fault, honey; but you ?--you did it _splendidly_!" He patted her tear-stained cheek, then turned to his captor, with a grim, hard smile of resignation to his fate.
"Well, Colonel, you've had a long chase of it; but you've gotten my brush at last." The Union soldier faced him, speaking earnestly: "Captain Cary, you're a brave man--and one of the best scouts in the Confederate army.

I regret this happening--more than I can say." The Southerner shrugged his shoulders.

His Northern captor asked: "Are you carrying dispatches ?" "No." "Any other papers ?--of any kind ?" No answer came, and he added sternly: "It is quite useless to refuse.

Give them to me." He held out his hand, but his captive only looked him in the eyes; and the answer, though spoken in an undertone, held a world of quiet meaning: "You can take it--_afterwards_." The Federal officer bit his lip; and yet he could not, would not, be denied.

His request became demand, backed by authority and the right of might, till Virgie broke in, in a piping voice of indignation: "You can't have it! It's mine! My pass to Richmon'-- from Gen'ral Lee." Morrison turned slowly from the little rebel to the man.
"Is this true ?" he asked.
The Southerner flushed, and for reply produced the rumpled paper from his boot leg, and handed it over without a word.