“But why are you in this part of the country at all?” Dorothea demanded again. She was worried about him, for, having helped to save him once, she thought it a useless risk that he should run his head into the lion’s mouth again. “I am on my way South to warn our troops,” he replied soberly. “And I haven’t much time either. The Johnny Rebs are preparing a secret expedition against the forces Sherman left at Savannah. It’s a very pretty plan, and, unless I get through, it will make trouble for us. I know the country and volunteered to carry the word. I wanted to see you and the charming little lady who helped me before, but I did not believe I should be lucky enough to meet you, as I couldn’t risk stopping at the house. I would be miles on my road now, if it hadn’t been for this zealous young lady. I shall have to run half the night to make up for it.” He laughed quietly and looked down at his crutch. “We did not know whether you had gotten away safely or not,” Dorothea replied. “We didn’t hear a word about it.” “Didn’t that Irishman tell you?” Stanchfield asked, in surprise. “Irishman!” echoed Dorothea, and it was a moment or two before she realized that Stanchfield was talking of Val Tracy. “Did he help you?” she demanded, after a slight pause. “To be sure he did,” came the ready answer, “and I took for granted he had told you all about it.” “We have never heard a word of you since that night,” Dorothea informed him. She was so astounded that her thoughts were in a whirl. “Val had helped him after all—but why had he not told them?” Her mind was a chaos. She could reason nothing out. “Hum, that’s funny,” Larry went on, half to himself. “I supposed of course he had let you know. He was a fine chap, though I must say he didn’t seem awfully cordial about what he did; but he gave me a good horse and set me on my way, and I didn’t think it polite to criticize his manners.” “But aren’t you running a great risk, now?” Dorothea asked anxiously. “Not very,” he replied lightly, “and then, if I get into trouble, I trust I may still count upon you to help me out.” “I don’t think you can count upon me again,” Dorothea answered seriously. “I was willing to save you from prison but I don’t think I could help you defeat the South.” “Why, aren’t you for the North?” Stanchfield murmured incredulously. “I’m British,” the girl returned, “but that hasn’t anything to do with it. It wouldn’t be fair for me to accept the hospitality of my aunt and cousins and betray their Cause. Do you think it would?” “But you’re a Red String,” he replied, as if that made everything all right. “Oh, but I’m not,” said Dorothea positively. The young man’s glance fell to the red velvet ribbon on the girl’s wrist and then sought her face. He was perplexed and a little startled. “Then who is the Red String? The other lady?” he asked.