“Honey,” Mrs. Stewart began at once, the moment they were alone, “I sent Harriot away with Corinne on purpose. I have had some news that I am at a loss to know how to break to the family, and perhaps you can make some suggestion. It is not a matter to be gossiped about. Mrs. Hendon was buried yesterday afternoon!” She stopped and looked at Dorothea as if she expected some demonstration of overwhelming surprise on the part of the young girl. “Is that Mr. Lee Hendon’s mother?” Dorothea asked calmly. “Yes, my dear,” came the hurried answer. “You’ve heard of the situation with April, of course? You couldn’t be in the town five minutes without hearing of it, I’m sure.” “Yes, I have heard of it,” said Dorothea. “Now that his poor mother is dead, everything will be all right, won’t it?” “You would think so, wouldn’t you?” Mrs. Stewart hurried on, “but that’s the awkward part of it. President Davis has passed a law that every white man of proper age who doesn’t report for military duty is liable to death as a deserter. You see what that means?” “No, I don’t,” Dorothea confessed. “Well, my love, it’s plain enough,” Mrs. Stewart explained, as if to a very stupid child. “Lee Hendon never went back home from his mother’s grave after the funeral yesterday afternoon. He has disappeared completely. No one knows where he is—and there can be only one explanation.” “You mean he has disappeared in order not to fight for the South?” Dorothea asked earnestly. She remembered the face she had seen at the window the night before and now realized the reason for the agony it expressed. He was alone, this poor Lee Hendon, with whom she had instinctively sympathized when first she had heard of him. He had stopped to see his sweetheart for the last time and then— But here her thoughts came to a sudden stop. April had been on the porch, too, last night. Of a sudden Dorothea thought she saw a clear explanation of all that had seemed mysterious to her. April was not a “Red String” after all. The lovers had met and parted. “April must be told,” she heard Mrs. Stewart saying, “and I don’t know how the news is to be broken to her.” It was on the tip of Dorothea’s tongue to say that Mrs. Stewart need not worry about April’s knowing it; but instead she suggested speaking to Mrs. May as soon as she returned to the house. “I think we had better go back as soon as possible,” she ended. “Aunt Parthenia will know exactly what to do.” “You have an old head on young shoulders,” Mrs. Stewart said approvingly. “Call me ‘Aunt Cora,’ dear—though I shan’t be here long. I knew I should love you the moment I saw you.” On the instant she seemed to have forgotten April’s affairs and was back again on her own perplexities. “Do you think I might manage two running bags?” she went on, looking up with a wrinkled forehead as if the decision was a most momentous one. “Perhaps two would be too heavy. Still my hoops are good and wide and I’ve just had them repaired.”