WITH JEAN DENSLOW
face: I wondered if you could be the same," her voice faltering over the words.
"That sounds strange, that you should know his name, and all about him, yet never have seen his face."
"He was not killed, only wounded. He came to our plantation in the night endeavoring to escape into your lives. I—I aided him."
"Then you surely don't hate all Yankees," I exclaimed, almost eagerly. "You are willing to grant some of us worth knowing?"
"You mistake," with dignity. "He was nothing to me. I assisted him unintentionally, not even knowing he was a Yankee."
"If you had known would you have betrayed him?"
"Not merely as a fugitive, perhaps: but as a bearer of important news to our enemies I would."
"And me?"
She looked at me, her eyes almost angry in their gray depths, her lips pressed closely together.
"We are enemies, not friends," she returned calmly. "I am a Confederate."
"Yet what necessity is there for war between us now?" I insisted. "We are on neutral ground, between the lines."
The girl hesitated, studying my face intently, evidently finding therein some qualities which appealed to her better nature. There was even a faint suggestion of cordiality in the voice that finally answered.
"If your mission is one of peace, Lieutenant King, I can greet you as a gentleman. I could not truthfully say
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