Tim heard the slam of MacNeil’s front door. He lowered the window and turned down the lamp and opened the door a crack. The light in the hall was dim, but he could see the guard lean forward in his chair, his pistol pointed at the crack. “You can come out now, hands in the air.” Tim did as he was told. The guard said, “Now stand there by the door.” Red was stirring about inside his room. His voice came loud. “I’m coming out.” Red winked at Tim. The prisoners walked down the staircase ahead of the guard. Their host waited for them in the hall. “Good evening,” he said. “Did you rest well?” Red grinned. “Thank you, sir. We did.” Red’s manner showed a change of spirit, and MacNeil eyed him sharply before he asked his captives to sit for a moment by the fire. “Would you like a glass of sherry, gentlemen?” Red said, “Begging your pardon, sir, but our stomachs are so empty that it might not set too well.” Tim chuckled to himself and the Scotsman smiled. “Then we’ll go right in. Luke will serve wine with the meal.” The table was set with a white cloth and cut glass. Silverware gleamed in the candlelight. The vegetables were served by a middle-aged colored woman who wore a crisp white apron and a little starched cap with frills on top. MacNeil carved the chicken, a fine fat bird. “I noticed a rosewood piano at the end of your sitting room,” Tim said. “Do you play, sir?” “Not a note,” their host said. “My daughter plays. I took her to Greenville to visit a cousin. I’ll be happy to fetch her back again. It was her son who saw you and gave the alarm.” MacNeil smiled faintly. “He’s dying to see you again. We’ll put you on exhibition after dinner, if you don’t mind.” Red said, “Not at all.” Their host was generous with helpings of chicken, and the colored woman passed the gravy boat and vegetables several times. MacNeil turned to Tim. “Where is your home?” “I’m from a small town on the Connecticut River, a place called Stone’s Brook. My father is the only doctor in town. Lieutenant Kelly is a New Haven man. He left a wife and child at home.” Tim knew he was telling more than he’d been asked. “But as for me, I’m an unmarried man.” Their host smiled. “You can’t be twenty. You still have time.” Red said, “He’s picked his girl.” “You’ve been serving with the Department of the South, I presume. Where were you captured, may I ask?” “On Morris Island, sir, on July eleventh last,” Red said. “That would be Battery Wagner.” “Yes. Fort Wagner, we call it.” MacNeil fingered the stem of his glass and smiled dryly. “I guess it earned that designation.” After dinner they retired to the living room and their host spoke to a guard who sat in the hall. When MacNeil joined them again he said, “Some of my neighbors want to have a look at you. I’ve decided to let them come. I want them to know that you aren’t wild beasts.” He fingered the butt of his pistol and said, as if to himself, “They’ll have to leave their firearms outside the door.”