Dorothea thanked her and smiled back, with an open admiration that she could not have concealed if she had been so minded. April needed no imported finery to set off her charms and no one at the party had any doubt about who was the belle of it. But as she watched her dancing with the Confederate officers and heard her leading all the most patriotic songs of the South; when she saw her cousin’s eyes kindle with enthusiasm at the mention of the Cause for which a rebel army was fighting, it was impossible to believe April a member of this band of Red Strings of which she had become so intimately aware. The thought that it was Lee Hendon who was the mainspring of her actions grew to a conviction. Time for such reflections came to Dorothea only now and then. She was never left to herself, but Val Tracy came for another dance which she was ready enough to give. She liked the young Irishman as did every one, apparently, and it occurred to her that he might help her solve some of the puzzling questions that had begun to throw a shadow of doubt upon her loyalty to the Southern cause. “Tell me, Mr. Tracy,” she asked quietly, “do they always set bloodhounds on escaping prisoners down here?” He looked at her a moment quizzically. “You didn’t like it, eh?” he said finally. “Well, to tell you the truth, Miss Drummond, I’m not what you’d call keen about it meself. Faith, this catchin’ man with dogs—!” He shook his head vigorously. “It’s very cruel,” Dorothea murmured, half to herself. “Ah, but, Miss Drummond,” Tracy answered, “you must remember that they have been doing it in this country for years and years and they don’t see any harm in it. You must take things as you find them, I suppose; though I confess this huntin’ men with hounds goes against the grain with me.” “Will they catch him, do you think?” she questioned, more anxiously than he could possibly know. “There aren’t many escape safely from Andersonville,” he answered. “Some of them do get out; but they’re brought back sooner or later, poor creatures.” “Why do you have such prisons?” Dorothea demanded almost angrily. “Nay, Miss Drummond,” he returned quickly, “don’t blame me for these prisons. They’re none of mine. I’m only a small cog in a very big wheel; but to tell the truth the problem isn’t as easy a one to solve as you’d think. We can’t give our own men enough food and clothes, so you’d hardly expect the prisoners to fare better.” Dorothea was about to reply when Hal May came hurriedly across the dancing floor and stopped beside them.