Dick sat by the window. The town was now almost lost in the obscurity. The exhausted army slept, and the occasional glitter from the bayonet of a sentinel was almost the only thing that told of its presence.

Dick was troubled. In spite of will and reason, his conscience hurt him. Theory was beautiful, but it was often shivered by practice. His sympathies were strongly with the old colonel who had cursed him so violently and the grim old maid who had given them only harsh words. Besides, he had pleasant memories of Victor Woodville, and these were his uncle and cousin.

He sat for a long time at the window. The house was absolutely quiet, and he was sure that everybody was asleep. There could be no doubt about Warner, because he slumbered audibly. But Dick was still wide awake. There was some tension of mind or muscle that kept sleep far from him. So he remained at the window, casting up the events of the day and those that might come.

The evening was well advanced when he was quite sure that he heard a light step in the hall. He would have paid little attention to it at an ordinary time, but, in all that silence and desolation, it called him like a drum-beat. Only a light step, and yet it filled him with suspicion and alarm. He was in the heart of a great and victorious Union army, but at the moment he felt that anything could happen in this strange house.

Slipping his pistol from his belt, he opened the door on noiseless hinges and stepped into the hall. A figure was disappearing in its dim space, but, as he saw clearly, it was that of a woman. He was sure that it was Miss Woodville and he stepped forward. He had no intention of following her, but his foot creaked on the floor, and, stopping instantly, she faced about. Then he saw that she carried a tray of food.

"Are we to have our house occupied and to be spied upon also?" she asked.

Dick flushed. Few people had ever spoken to him in such a manner, and it was hard to remember that she was a woman.

"I heard a footstep in the hall, and it was my duty to see who was passing," he said.

"I have prepared food and I am taking it to my father. He would not accept it from Yankee hands."

"Colonel Woodville sups late. I should think a wounded man would be asleep at this hour, if he could."

She gave him a glance full of venom.

"What does it matter?" she said.

Dick refused to be insulted.

"Let me take the tray for you," he said, "at least to the door. Your father need not know that my hands have touched it."

She shrank back and her eyes blazed.

"Let us alone!" she exclaimed. "Go back to your room! Isn't it sufficient that this house shelters you?"

She seemed to Dick to show a heat and hate out of all proportion to the occasion, but he did not repeat the offer.

"I meant well," he said, "but, since you do not care for my help, I'll return to my room and go to sleep. Believe me, I'm sincere when I say I hope your father will recover quickly from his wound."

"He will," she replied briefly.

Dick bowed with politeness and turned toward his own room. Nevertheless his curiosity did not keep him from standing a moment or two in the dark against the wall and looking back at the woman who bore the tray. He drew a long breath of astonishment when he saw her pass Colonel Woodville's door, and hurry forward now with footsteps that made no sound.

The suspicion which had lain deep in his mind sprang at once into life. Keeping close to the wall, he followed swiftly and saw her disappear up a stairway. There he let the pursuit end and returned thoughtfully to his room.

Dick was much troubled. An ethical question had presented itself to him.