“I was just this minute wishing you were here!” Dorothea exclaimed, throwing her arms about Miss Imogene. It was unusual, for the English bred girl was not given to such demonstrations of affection, and the older woman was a little surprised. “I believe you are glad to see me,” she said, as she kissed Dorothea. “It is just like an American welcome you gave me.” “Well, I’m half American,” Dorothea answered with an embarrassed little laugh. She realized that in giving way to this impulse she was running counter to her training; but, curiously enough, she didn’t care. “Sometimes I’m sorry I’m not all American.” “You will be, in time,” Miss Imogene replied lightly, taking a chair beside the one Dorothea had been occupying. “Sit down, dear, and tell me your news.” “How did you know I had any news?” demanded Dorothea, her eyes widening with surprise. “I guessed,” Miss Imogene answered, “and now I know. Come, out with it!” “I have seen Mr. Stanchfield again,” the girl whispered, after looking about her to make sure she was not overheard. “He was disguised as a wounded Confederate soldier.” There was no doubt Miss Imogene was interested. She leaned close to Dorothea and urged her to tell all she knew, listening with scarcely an interruption till the tale was finished. “And so Val Tracy helped him away,” Miss Ivory murmured at the end, more than half to herself. “I wonder what is behind that?” “I think I know,” Dorothea said, in a low voice. “Val is a Red String.” Miss Imogene turned to the girl beside her with a quick motion, as if she was surprised. “I never thought of that. What makes you say so?” she asked. “There isn’t any other way to explain it,” Dorothea replied. “He must be something like that, otherwise—” She broke off, and for a moment or two they both sat thinking over the situation. “It is of course an explanation,” Miss Imogene commented, “but I don’t know whether it is a reasonable one or not. I don’t know.” She repeated the words several times, evidently puzzled. “After all the main thing is that the boy escaped. But now he’s come back and is in a worse position than he was then. He’ll be shot if he’s caught this time.” “He didn’t seem at all afraid of that,” Dorothea explained. “He was only impatient to be on his way to warn the Union men. I couldn’t help in that, of course; but I confess, Cousin Imogene, I hope he succeeds.” “You’re more of a Yankee than you were when I left,” Miss Imogene returned with something of a smile. “But you mustn’t talk to me about it. Nor to any one else,” she added. “They don’t want Yankee sympathizers in this country, nor yet in this house, honey, so you must be careful what you say.” “Of course,” Dorothea answered. “And it isn’t that I want the South to be beaten exactly. Only, I do want this war to end—”