“For the same reason you went out on the porch,” Miss Imogene interrupted, with a swift upward glance. “Come, child, put on a fresh log and let your old cousin have five minutes with you. The evening is not half over.” There was a new tone in the pretty voice that surprised Dorothea. She had thought of Miss Imogene as a sweet and gentle spinster who spent most of her life in social gayety or in doing some pleasant task out of the hurry and bustle of the world. Now she felt that under the sweet manner there was a will that might prove stubborn if the cause arose. Moreover there was nothing to do but comply with the request unless she chose to be deliberately rude. That she could not be, even though she could find no excuse ready to her tongue. Dorothea placed a fresh log on the fire and then stood beside her visitor, the two looking down in silence as the wood caught and flamed up in a cheerful blaze. Then, quite suddenly, so that Dorothea was surprised, Miss Imogene turned and glanced about the room. Dorothea’s heart sank. She saw no possibility of the shrunken figure on the floor escaping Miss Imogene’s sharp eyes. Nor was she mistaken. “It’s quite a pretty room by fire-light,” said the little lady and took a step toward the bed. A moment later she was beside the prostrate man, looking down at him. “What’s this, child?” she asked in a whisper. Dorothea hurried to her side. “Oh, Cousin Imogene, it is a Union officer escaped from Andersonville,” Dorothea whispered. “They are hunting for him now. They think he’s here, and—” “Why didn’t you tell one of the men, Hal or Val Tracy?” demanded the elder woman with a trace of severity in her tone. “Because I wouldn’t give him up,” Dorothea maintained stoutly. “I’m not a real Rebel. I’m British; and though I do believe the South is right I don’t think they should hunt men with dogs. And, Cousin Imogene, I mean to do all I can to help him.” “Do you know who he is?” was the next question. Dorothea’s plea did not seem to have made any impression on the little lady, who suddenly had grown rather imperious and whose gentleness had dropped from her like a cloak. “No, of course not,” Dorothea answered, surprised. “But he’s a Federal officer and he’s been on the porch roof all night without anything to eat and—” “Light a candle and bring it here,” her cousin commanded, dropping to her knees as Dorothea obeyed. With a deft hand Miss Imogene turned the face of the shrunken figure to the light. As she looked at it she gave a smothered cry. “It’s Larry Stanchfield!” she exclaimed and at the name the man opened his eyes and looked up at the two leaning over him. For an instant there was silence, and then Miss Imogene spoke in a strained voice. “I’ll help you, Dorothea,” she said. “Go lock the door.” CHAPTER XIV MISS IMOGENE TAKES CHARGE