“If only Cole were here,” thought he, “I would not hesitate a minute. But here goes anyhow; I’ll trust to luck, for this once, though the colonel would be against that sort of thing if he were here. He says always be sure of your aim and of what you are about to strike, before dealing the blow.” He had started for the house while he was still speaking; as noticed before, there were no windows overlooking the lawn from the first floor; so there was no danger of being overseen in this way; but, still, there was a wide doorway leading out upon a long veranda; some one might come out and discover him at any moment. He did not breathe freely until he reached the shelter of the walls, against which clung and climbed a thick growth of honeysuckle. This, at least, would afford a slight concealment; and he worked his way slowly along until he was in position to see any one who came out of the house by the front door. “It’s good that the vine is thick and rather loose at the bottom,” said Tom, drawing the tendrils about him. “It would be a ticklish thing to stand here without any cover at all.” He stood there for some little time, debating as to what his next move should be. He had concluded that a venture around the corner of the house would be about the best thing he could do, when suddenly there came a sharp metallic click, followed by the sound of a closing door. Tom’s heart beat loudly against his ribs; he peeped through the screen of vine leaves toward the veranda. A tall young girl stood there; she was attired in white, and her dark eyes were flashing with resentment; there was a hot flush upon her cheeks, as she threw out her arms, in a gesture of anger, and exclaimed: “Oh, how long is this to last! how long is it to last! They are brutes to treat my father so; to be taken prisoner by the enemy would not be near so bad.” “It’s Lucy,” said Tom to himself, as he recognized Mr. Foster’s daughter. “And something unpleasant is happening, just as I thought.” “If I were only a man!” whispered the girl passionately. “If I only had brothers, we should see how long these cowards would infest my father’s house.” There was a short, clear whistle by which Tom attracted the attention of the Foster household before he ventured into the open upon his visits. It was a signal well known to Mr. Foster, Lucy and the more trustworthy of the slaves; and Tom now placed his fingers to his lips and whistled the notes softly. Lucy started as the sound struck her ear; with quick steps she came forward to the rail of the veranda and leaned forward eagerly. Tom was just about to step from his place of concealment behind the vines, when the door opened and closed swiftly, and Mark Harwood stood upon the veranda at Lucy Foster’s side. The girl went pale and caught her breath; Tom shrank back among the vines, clutching the pistol which he had taken the precaution to bring with him. “Miss Lucy,” spoke Mark Harwood.