Dorothea was about to leave the window but she was by no means certain what she could do, although she was fully determined to help this poor soldier to his freedom. It was quite plain that he had expected assistance from some one in the house; but who could it be, this Red String in whom she, herself, would now be glad to confide? She had strongly suspected April when she had first heard of this mysterious band of Northern sympathizers, but her cousin’s action which had led to this conclusion could all be explained by Lee Hendon’s presence outside the house on the previous night. Dorothea decided then and there that April was not a Red String. Miss Imogene wore a velvet band about her neck, but Dorothea, like Val Tracy, felt that here was one above suspicion. Yet there was some one who would give her the help she needed to save the wretched man upon the roof if she could but divine who it was. While she still debated the matter in her mind, his voice came to her out of the darkness. “If you could get me some food it would be the best thing that could happen to me,” it said. “I don’t know how I’m going to do it,” Dorothea answered. “You see, they are having a ball down stairs, and probably all the servants are busy, and—” She was halted by the first strains of the music coming up to them from the parlors below. “Have you nothing in your room?” the man asked, weakly. “Nothing but the chocolate I gave you—which you have eaten,” Dorothea answered, and at that moment there came a knock at the door. Dorothea closed the window softly and crossed the room. “Who is it?” she asked, controlling her voice as well as she could. “Please, Miss Dee, Ol’ Miss is askin’ where yoh-all is?” came Lucy’s voice. Instantly Dorothea remembered the bright red ribbon in the girl’s hair. That there were negroes in this band of Red Strings was certain, seeing how necessary their assistance would be if anything secret was to be done in the South. She was on the point of taking the maid into her confidence when a doubt assailed her. Could she be sure of Lucy? Reluctantly she shook her head. She dared not make a mistake; the freedom, perhaps the life, of the man on the roof depended upon her and she could leave nothing to chance. “I’ll be down shortly,” she called softly through the door, “and, Lucy,” she went on, with a sudden inspiration, “can’t you get me some sandwiches and a glass of wine? I didn’t eat much supper and—” “And yoh is faint wif excitement,” Lucy finished for her. “Yes’m, yoh jes’ stay there and I’ll have somefin’ up foh yoh in a jiffy,” and Dorothea heard the girl hurry away. Going back to the window she opened it again and whispered what she had done. “It’s the best I can manage at present,” she ended. “It will be a great help,” the man replied. “If I could just have a bit of sleep and a chance to dress a wound I received getting out of Andersonville, I wouldn’t have to bother you further. I’m sorry to give you so much trouble.”