"Dad," cried the cheery voice of Bob as she came toward him. "They say that you have caught a spy. Where is he? Why----" Her gaze fell upon the prisoner and she stopped short. "Frank," she cried, shrilly, "it's Frank! Oh, dad, what does it mean?" "It means," said the Colonel, trying to draw her away, "that you have no brother, Bob. This man is nothing to you. He is a spy and as such dies at sunrise." "At sunrise!" shrieked Bob. "No, no!" "Away with that fellow," ordered the Colonel, harshly. "And mind! I shall hold each one of you personally responsible for his safety. Bob," as the soldiers bore his son away, "you are under arrest. Go to your quarters and stay there until I release you. And you also," to Jeanne. "You have no right to arrest me, Colonel Peyton," said Jeanne coldly. "I refuse to obey any man who sentences his own son to death." "You refuse to obey me?" cried the Colonel, loth to believe his ears. "Me?" "Yes, sir, you. I do not consider myself under arrest. You have no right to put me there. I am neither your daughter nor your slave," and Jeanne put her arm around Bob and faced him defiantly. "There are ways of enforcing obedience, young lady," said the Colonel. "Bob, to your quarters." "But, dad,----" "To your quarters," commanded her father sternly. "Johnson," to a soldier, "see that these girls are well-guarded until I give other orders." And so it came about that a guard was placed about their tent and the girls found themselves as closely watched as if they were indeed prisoners. In the afternoon as they sat disconsolately together a confusion without told that something unusual was going on. Jeanne went to the aperture in the front of the tent and looked out. "What is it?" she asked of the sentry. "Our men coming back," was the answer. "They have a number of prisoners and have captured some fine horses." Jeanne reported the news to Bob, but she received it apathetically. So overcome by grief was she that she appeared to no longer care for anything. "Bob," said Jeanne suddenly, "can't we do something to help your brother?" "I am afraid not," answered Bob in heartbroken accents. "What can we do? We are only girls. What can we do?" "Well, we can make an effort. I will never forgive myself if I don't do something for him." "Why should you care?" asked Bob listlessly. "He is not your brother." "No, Bob, he isn't. But he is one of our officers, and I intend to help him get away. It would be an awful thing for him to die by the hand of his father." "What are you going to do?" asked Bob looking at her with a gleam of interest. "I don't know. I have been thinking all day and I don't know," said Jeanne. "But we must do something. I did not think that your father could be so cruel." "He is doing his duty," said Bob with pale lips. "Poor dad! Jeanne, you think him hard-hearted, but I know that this will kill him. Poor, poor dad!" "Then if he cares why does he condemn his son to death?" asked Jeanne in surprise.