The sentry had repeated his challenge; an angry flush was deepening
on the intruder's cheek. At this critical moment Cicely threw open
the French windows and stepped upon the veranda.

The sentry saluted the familiar little figure of his colonel's
daughter with an explanatory glance at the stranger. The young
fellow looked up--and the god became human.

"I'm looking for my sister," he said, half awkwardly, half
defiantly; "she's here, somewhere."

"Yes--and perfectly safe, Mr. Culpepper, I think," said the arch-
hypocrite with dazzling sweetness; "and we're all so delighted.
And so brave and plucky and skillful in her to come all that way--
and for such a purpose."

"Then--you know--all about it"--stammered Jim, more relieved than
he had imagined--"and that I"--

"That you were quite ignorant of your sister helping the deserter.
Oh yes, of course," said Cicely, with bewildering promptitude.
"You see, Mr. Culpepper, we girls are SO foolish. I dare say I
should have done the same thing in her place, only I should never
have had the courage to do what she did afterwards. You really
must forgive her. But won't you come in--DO." She stepped back,
holding the window open with the half-coaxing air of a spoiled
child. "This way is quickest. DO come." As he still hesitated,
glancing from her to the house, she added, with a demure little
laugh, "Oh, I forget--this is Colonel Preston's quarters, and I'm
his daughter."