“Most assuredly not. The fact is, General, Colonel Curran, with whom I see you are already acquainted, was to pass the night at the Major's quarters, and as he has not yet returned, the duty has naturally devolved upon me to see our guest safely deposited. We are at the Mitchell House, you remember, which is beyond the inner lines; and while, of course, I have been furnished with a pass,” she held up the paper for his inspection, “and have been also instructed as to the countersign, I fear this will scarcely suffice for the safe passage of the Colonel.” The General laughed good-humoredly, evidently pleased with her assumption of military knowledge. “Colonel Curran is certainly to be congratulated upon having found so charming a guide, madam, and I can assure you I shall most gladly do my part toward the success of the expedition. The Major was expected back before this, I believe?” “He left word that if he had not returned by twelve I was to wait for him no longer, as he should go directly to his quarters. I find the life of a soldier to be extremely uncertain.” “We are our country's servants, madam,” he replied proudly, and then taking out a pad of blanks from his pocket, turned to me. “May I ask your full name and rank, Colonel?” “Patrick L. Curran, Colonel, Sixth Ohio Light Artillery.” He wrote it down rapidly, tore off the paper, and handed it to me. “That will take you safely through our inner guard lines,” he said gravely, “that being as far as my jurisdiction extends. Good-night, Colonel; good-night, Mrs. Brennan.” She smiled her good-bye to him, and placed a gloved hand confidingly on my arm. “I believe I recall the road and shall find no difficulty in guiding you,” she said. “At least we cannot go so very far astray.” How cool and self-possessed she appeared--no hurry, no outward nervousness marred a single action. I felt my heart throb with new-born pride of her as I marked the marvellous self-control which characterized every movement, for I realized now that her risk in the adventure was scarcely second to my own. As I ventured life, she ventured honor, and I doubted not hers was the harder task of the two. Yet she gave no outward sign of struggle; as we crossed the crowded hall I could note no lack of resolution, no faltering of purpose in either step or voice. At the door an officer spoke to her. “Surely you are not leaving us so early, Mrs. Brennan?” he questioned anxiously. “Why, supper has not even been announced.” I felt her hand close more tightly upon my arm. “Unfortunately we must,” she replied, in a tone expressive of deep regret. “The Major was to go directly to his quarters if he was not here by midnight, and would surely worry were I still absent. Have you ever met my friend? Pardon me--Captain Burns, Colonel Curran.”