Together the girls went down and found a farmer’s boy, twelve years old or so, who, in answer to their questions, silently produced a folded sheet of paper with Dorothea’s name written on the outside. Quickly she opened it, glanced at the signature and saw that it was from Val Tracy; then she read as follows: “I have found Hendon. He is in the hands of a band of Irregulars who insist upon executing him as a spy. I have done everything I can, but it is of no use. They won’t let me even see him, but have brought me a message from him. He wants to see April before he dies, and the men have given us twenty-four hours. That means sunset to-morrow. I don’t know whether she will consent to come, but the least I could do was to make this effort to get her. I should, perhaps, have gone to her myself, but it would seem like abandoning Hendon and I am still trying to persuade these men that, although he is an enemy, they have no right to kill him. Somehow I feel dreadfully sorry for Hendon, but I am afraid he is doomed. If you can persuade April to come, the boy who bears this will show her the way. I shall see you as soon as this dreadful business is over. Yours faithfully, Val Tracy.” Dorothea read the letter through rapidly, then, handing it to April, who stood beside her, she addressed the boy. “When did you get this letter from Captain Tracy?” she demanded in a businesslike tone. The boy was visibly embarrassed and hung his head. “I done brung it as fast as I could, considerin’,” he mumbled. “But when did you get it?” Dorothea repeated impatiently. “Las’ night,” he answered sullenly; “but I didn’t see no call to go ridin’ in the dark. ’Sides, some o’ them swamps is ha’nted!” “How far did you ride?” April asked. She had read Val Tracy’s letter and realized the well-nigh hopeless situation in which her lover stood; but she wasted no time in tears or vain repinings. There blazed in her brilliant eyes a look of determination that meant action. “How far did you ride?” she questioned again impatiently. “I reckon it’d be a matter of thirty-five miles or so,” the boy answered reluctantly. “I come as fast as I could and left home long before daylight—long before; but them swamps is ha’nted—” “Dorothea,” April broke in upon the boy’s excuses, “Val expected us to get this message hours ago. We shall have to start at once and perhaps, even then, we’ll be too late. Will you help me?” “Of course,” answered Dorothea promptly. “Then if you’ll have Uncle Jastrow put the best pair of horses in the light carriage and tell him to come to the Heath House at once, with the boy, I shall go with him to save Lee.” She was moving as she spoke. Inside she found a hat and glanced at the tall clock in the hall. “I shall only have five hours before sunset.” She paused a moment and put her hand to her heart as if there were a sharp pain there. “Thirty-five miles in five hours,” she murmured under her breath. “I must do it. I must do it!” she cried loudly.