“Oh, you’re in here,” he said, with some embarrassment; “I didn’t know. You see we’re looking for that escaped man. We haven’t found him yet and we’re searching the house. Of course, as you’re here, we can take for granted a Union officer isn’t in this room.” His eyes wandered over the girl’s head for a moment and then, with a bow, he drew back into the semi-darkness of the hall. Dorothea, without a word closed the door, her breath coming in short, quick gasps. It was so narrow an escape that she had all the sensations of having been caught. A few minutes later Miss Imogene came back with milk and brandy. Dorothea in a few quick words told of Tracy’s visit and Miss Imogene shook her head doubtfully at the girl’s assurance that he had seen nothing. “I hope not,” she replied, “but we can’t speculate about that. We must bring this boy around as quickly as we can.” She forced some of the brandy between Stanchfield’s lips and presently he came to himself. A stiff punch and the sandwiches seemed to restore his strength like magic, and Miss Imogene turned her attention to his injured arm. “Oh, please don’t bother with it,” Stanchfield insisted. “I can fix it myself now. That’s what I was trying to do when I fainted like the silly idiot that I am. An old darky dressed it for me the second day I was out of Andersonville. It’s nothing but a flesh wound, and it was doing pretty well, considering, till I climbed up the vines to the porch roof to get away from the hounds. Then it opened again, and I’m afraid it’s rather a mess. But please don’t bother.” “Dorothea, hold the candle over here,” Miss Imogene said calmly, utterly ignoring this plea. “I’ll slit the sleeve. We’ll have to get you other clothes from somewhere, anyhow. Did that hurt?” Her delicate fingers that seemed not to be made for such things, deftly separated the stained shirt from the clotted blood, and Dorothea, unused to such sights, felt herself growing sick and faint at this wound which the young man had called a scratch. But she summoned her courage and, although she was rather white about the lips, managed to give Miss Imogene all the help that lady needed, so that very shortly the washing and bandaging was over. “I feel like a new man,” Stanchfield declared in a little while. “Now I must go. I can’t be here at daybreak.” He started to his feet, but was still so weak that in spite of his determination he fell back into his chair. “The truth is,” Miss Imogene remarked with a wrinkled brow, “you must have rest to recuperate. But what to do with you, my boy, I don’t know.” “In a little I shall be myself again,” Stanchfield insisted. “At the worst I can get back on the roof and wait till my strength returns. Whatever happens I cannot involve you ladies in my troubles.”