“Don’t worry,” Miss Imogene consoled her. “I don’t think they will catch _this_ prisoner from Andersonville.” “But the dogs, Miss Imogene, they were on the track,” Dorothea replied. “On the wrong track, my dear,” the elder lady answered, with a nervous little chuckle. “The wrong track.” “But how do you know?” demanded Dorothea, turning to look up into the face of Miss Imogene alight in the now blazing fire. “For a woman’s reason, ‘because,’” the other answered evasively but with a bright smile as she stood up. “I must go back to bed, honey, and I advise you to stop thinking about runaway Yankees and get your beauty sleep.” Without another word Dorothea accompanied her visitor to the door. “Good-night, honey,” said Miss Imogene, kissing the girl with a genuine warmth. “We are going to be good friends, for I love you already, my child.” Dorothea closed the door behind her without a word. Once more her thoughts flew back to the matters that had been puzzling her all the evening. Miss Imogene wore a red band of velvet around her throat. Was she a “Red String”? The girl went back to the fire and seated herself once more in front of it, her eyes gazing into the flames leaping up the chimney, and her thoughts going over and over again the experiences of this first night in her new home. But not yet had she come to the end of her perplexities. She heard voices whispering in the hall and then there came again a soft tapping on her door. Dorothea guessed that it was April, and was not surprised when her beautiful cousin came in. “I must talk to you a moment, Dorothea,” April said, sitting down by the fire. There was something antagonistic in her manner, though Dorothea could not say wherein it was displayed. “I did not hear you say to-night that you had or had not seen anybody outside the house. Did you see any one?” The question was direct and, as she asked it, her eyes fell upon the red band of velvet about Dorothea’s wrist. Dorothea was at a loss what to reply. She believed that April was demanding an answer to something she knew already and could see no motive for it. “I had rather not talk about that, April,” she answered at last, with a smile. “Can’t we forget all about it?” “No,” answered April, “no, we can’t. You must remember, Dorothea, that we are at war. You say your sympathies are with the South. We believe you, but you seem to have evaded a direct question and—and—well, I want to know, so that there will be no doubt in my mind. Did you see someone?” “Yes, I did,” Dorothea answered. She felt that under any circumstances it would do no harm to the escaping officer if April knew. It was out of her hands now either to help or hinder the poor prisoner. April’s eyes widened. “Why did you not tell them?” she demanded. “Because,” Dorothea replied firmly, “I did not have a chance, in the first place, and, in the second, I was in no hurry to be the means of setting dogs on a man, whoever he might be.”