“Oh, no,” Dorothea replied quickly. “Miss Imogene couldn’t be, you know. We were just sorry for the prisoners at Andersonville. That was why we helped you.” At that moment she was convinced that Val Tracy was the elusive member of that mysterious band of Northern sympathizers, but this thought she kept to herself. “Then I suppose you will betray me now?” he questioned. “I shouldn’t have told you of my mission!” “I’m neutral, or at least I ought to be,” Dorothea replied, perplexed. “Anyway, I shan’t betray you. Only you mustn’t expect me to help you, either.” Their conversation was interrupted by the return of Corinne, accompanied by Mrs. Stewart and Harriot. As Dorothea had expected, Corinne was by no means pleased by this audience to share with her the glory of attending “one of our wounded heroes,” as she expressed it, and Dorothea watched the proceedings, half fearful and half amused. Stanchfield became again the suffering soldier and Dorothea dared not catch his eye for fear she might laugh out-right. It was no easy matter to keep a straight face listening to the excessive expressions of sympathy that Mrs. Stewart and her daughter thought appropriate to the occasion. The farce kept up till Stanchfield could eat no more and, with many protestations of thanks, hobbled off, glad, Dorothea knew, to be on the road with his message that must be delivered. On their way home Harriot complained that Dorothea was very silent. “You behave as if you were starving,” Harriot told her, as they strolled through Coulter Woods. Dorothea laughed and tried to take an interest in Harriot’s chatter, but her mind was filled with perplexing thoughts which she was trying vainly to straighten out. The news that Stanchfield had brought, added to her mystification. Was Val Tracy the Red String who had eluded her so persistently? Indeed she could find no other explanation for his share in the young man’s first escape. Yet it did not seem possible. Tracy was not the sort of a fellow to sail under false colors of any sort. She knew that he was not so bitter a foe to the Union as the Southerners generally were. She realized that he felt much as she did about the causes of the war; but it would not be like him, once having committed himself, to play the traitor, which must be the case if indeed he was one of the Red Strings. And yet, what other explanation was there for what he had done? Of Stanchfield and his journey to Savannah she thought also. This time, however, she did not seem to have the same personal interest that had played on her sympathies before. He was well and strong and evidently in the way of being overfed, if his experience at Mrs. Stewart’s was any measure of his future treatment. Of course, he ran considerable risk; but he seemed very sure of himself, and his confidence inspired her with faith that he would pull through and accomplish his mission.