She sat for a moment, but the flapping of the curtain in front of the window annoyed her and, going to it, she closed the sash so that the wind might not blow in. Then she went back to her book by the table and tried to read. She had scarcely turned a page, however, when she was startled by three short raps upon the window pane and, turning toward it, she saw a hand reaching up from below ready to tap again. For an instant Dorothea’s heart jumped with apprehension, and then she thought of Lee Hendon and all fear left her. She ran to the window and, lifting it again, leaned out. As she expected, the dark form of a man cowered on the gallery roof below the window ledge. A pale face looked up at her in the darkness. Lucy’s prophecy as a result of the falling knife had come true. Here indeed was a stranger come to see her. “Water!” came a croaking sound from the figure. “Water!” Dorothea ran back to the stand and poured out a glassful, carrying it to the window. The up-stretched hand grasped it, and the man gulped the contents. “More,” he muttered hoarsely and again she filled the glass. “Have you any food?” the man questioned after he had drunk the second measure. Dorothea shook her head. Then her face brightened. “Yes, I have, too,” she whispered. “I’ve some chocolate. It’s a part of the French soldier’s rations, so I fancy it won’t hurt you. I’ll get it for you.” The man consumed what she gave him ravenously and showed an immediate improvement in his condition. “Food puts life into a man,” he said. “I’ve had nothing to eat since yesterday, and only a little parched corn then. Now, young lady, how am I to get away from here?” “Really I don’t know,” Dorothea answered hesitatingly. “After all, isn’t that your own affair?” “They told me I should find some one to help me at this house,” he answered. “When I saw your hand as you opened the window just now I knew where to ask. I’ve been lying here since the hounds chased me yesterday evening.” “Then you’re not Lee Hendon,” Dorothea whispered half to herself. “Oh,” she went on a little louder, “are you escaping from the prison?” “Yes,” the man answered. “Didn’t you know that? They told me I could expect help here. You must be the one. I saw the band on your wrist.” His voice was weak and faint in the darkness as he crouched against the wall, and it came up to her only in jerks as if it was difficult for him to speak. Dorothea started, here was prompt confirmation of Hal’s story. Evidently there was a “Red String” in the house somewhere, but who could it be? The place was full almost to overflowing with Confederate sympathizers, among whom were many Rebel officers. Yet the man must be saved, even if she had to do it herself. “Wait a moment,” she whispered into the darkness. “You shall be helped to freedom if it is possible.” CHAPTER XII THE MAN ON THE ROOF