She led the way to the chamber where Calhoun was. No sooner did Major Crawford see him than he turned pale and staggered back, “Great God!” he exclaimed. What fate was it that had led the man he had shot to the house to be cared for by his sister? “What is it, Mark? What is it?” she cried, seeing his agitation. Should he tell her? Yes, it would be best. “Joyce, you will not wonder at my surprise, when I tell you it was I who shot him.” “You, brother, you!” she cried, and instinctively she shrank from him. Mark saw it, and exclaimed, “Great God! Joyce, you don’t blame me, do you? I had to do it to save my life. He was about to cut me down with his sword when I fired.” “No, no,” she cried, “I don’t blame you, but it was so sudden; it is so dreadful. I never before realized that war was so terrible.” “Well, Joyce, save the poor fellow’s life if you can; I don’t want his death on my hands if I can help it. Do you know who your prisoner is?” “No, you see the condition he is in.” “His name is Pennington, Calhoun Pennington. He is one of Morgan’s bravest and most daring officers. I ought to know him, he took me prisoner twice.” “You, Mark, you?” “Yes, you remember I told you how I lost my horse in Tennessee. He is the fellow who took it. He afterwards captured me at Cave City.” “Mark, what will become of him if he gets well?” she asked. “The United States officials will take him,” he answered. “His being here must be reported.” “And—and he will be sent to prison?” “Yes, until he is exchanged.” “But you were not sent to prison when you were captured,” she protested. “No, I was paroled; but I hardly believe the government will parole any of Morgan’s men.” “Why?” she asked. “They have given us too much trouble, Puss. Now we have them, I think we will keep them.” “Mark, Aunt Matilda don’t like my taking this Pennington in. She says father will not like it at all.” “I will see Aunt Matilda, and tell her it is all right. I will also write to father. No, Joyce, I don’t want Pennington to die. It is best, even in war, to know you have not killed a man. So take good care of him, or rather see he has good care. Get a man to nurse him nights.” “I will look out for that,” said Joyce. “Well, Puss, good-bye, keep me posted. I had leave of absence only a few hours, so I must be going.” “Oh, Mark, must you go so soon?” And she clung to him as if she would not let him go. Gently disengaging her arms, he pressed kiss after kiss on her brow and was gone. She sank into a chair weeping, and for a time forgot her prisoner. The next day Joyce had another visitor, in the person of Andrew Harmon. He had heard that his horse was at Crawford’s, and that the officer who took him was there desperately wounded. He made his visit with pleasure, for of all the girls in Columbiana County, she was the one he had selected to become Mrs. Harmon. He had no idea he would be refused, for was he not considered the greatest catch in the county?