LIEUTENANT MOTT. Upon receipt of this, you will at once take and hang that young rebel, John Russell. He has violated his parole and is entitled neither to a further hearing nor a trial. Hang him before sunset to-night. I shall expect to receive word by to-morrow morning.--HEALD. John’s face turned deadly pale, then red with anger. “I have not broken my parole!” he cried. “I never gave a promise that I would not help father to escape. This is murder, and----” “I think Lieutenant Mott dropped that letter in the dining-room intentionally,” broke in his mother. “He’s not as bad as Captain Heald. He won’t carry out the order.” With a great effort John controlled his voice. “We’ll see, mother. If it is really an order, I suppose he’ll have to carry it out--unless I escape.” “He might let you escape.” “No, little mother. But don’t give up. I’ll find a way out.” He kissed his mother, unlocked the door and walked slowly down the stairs and out upon the veranda. Lieutenant Mott was coming up the steps, and as he met John he gave him a keen glance of sympathy. But that was all. Not a word or sign to show that he would not carry out his order. _Hanged!_ The very crickets seemed to be chirping it. Over and over the word kept repeating itself in John’s mind as he walked slowly on over the lawn. He saw that now he was no longer bound by his parole. His word of honor had held him, but the order to hang him released him from the bond. He would escape if he could, but wherever he went red-coated soldiers were lounging lazily about, and up and down the road marched the sentries with their muskets over their shoulders. If it were only night! In the darkness he might escape, but it was not yet noon. The very words of the letter came back to him. “Hang him before sunset to-night!” And this was to be the end of it all! To be hanged! It was too horrible to think of. Every avenue of escape was blocked, and in sheer desperation he returned to the house and made his way noiselessly up the stairs to his room. His mother was not there, and relieved by the thought that she was not present to look upon him in his weakness, he bolted the door and seated himself by the table on which stood a miniature of her. He looked at it, and dropping his head upon his arms on the table before him, he sobbed in an agony of despair. He was roused by the sound of the dinner-bell. He must go down and somehow conceal his feelings. He bathed his face and, somewhat relieved by his tears, arose to join the family in the room below. Only his sisters were there when he entered, and he knew at once by the expression upon their faces that his mother had not shown the letter to them. He choked down a few mouthfuls of food, but he could not eat. Excusing himself from the table on the plea that he wished to find his mother, he ran swiftly up to her room and rapped upon the door.