“Your offer is not accepted; you are well aware I do not believe in slavery,” replied Joyce, with a merry laugh. When the Doctor was ready to go, he asked for a private interview with Joyce. It was hard work for him to say what he had to say. He choked and stammered, but at last Joyce understood what he meant. He had promised the government officials to inform them when Calhoun could be moved without endangering his life. That time had come. “But,” said he, as he noticed the white face of Joyce, “I shall recommend that he be allowed to remain two weeks longer, as there is no danger of his running away in his weak condition.” But Joyce hardly heard him. “And—and—this means?” she whispered. “The penitentiary at Columbus.” Joyce shuddered. “And—and there is no way to prevent this?” “None. God knows I would if I could.” “Thank you, Doctor; I might have known this would have to come, but it is so sudden.” The Doctor went out shaking his head. “I am afraid harm has been done,” he said to himself. Just as he was getting into his gig to drive away Andrew Harmon came riding by. He glanced up and saw Calhoun sitting by the window. “So, your patient is able to sit up,” he exclaimed, with a sneer. “About time he were in the penitentiary, where he belongs, isn’t it?” “I don’t know how that concerns you,” replied the Doctor, coldly, as he drove away. “Oh ho! my fine fellow. I will show you whether it concerns me or not?” muttered Harmon, looking after him. That night Harmon wrote to the authorities at Columbus, stating it as his opinion that there was a scheme on foot to detain Lieutenant Pennington until he was well enough to slip away. He was not aware that Doctor Hopkins had reported on the condition of his patient every week, and had already sent a letter saying he could be moved with safety, but recommending he be allowed to remain two weeks longer, on account of his weak condition. Harmon not only wrote to Columbus, but also to Mr. Crawford, hinting that it was dangerous for his daughter to care for Calhoun longer. “You know,” he wrote, “that girls of the age of Joyce are inclined to be romantic.” As for Joyce, when the Doctor left her she sank into a chair weak and faint. She saw Andrew Harmon gazing up at the window where Calhoun was, and a terror seized her. She now knew that she loved Calhoun, but with that knowledge also came the thought that her love was hopeless, that even if Calhoun returned her love, her father would never consent to their union. He would rather see her dead than married to a Rebel, especially a hated Morgan raider. Long did she struggle with her own heart, her sense of duty, her ideas of patriotism; and duty conquered. She would give him up, but she would save him. It was evening before she could muster strength to have the desired interview with Calhoun. When she did enter the room it was with a step so languid, a face so pinched and drawn, that Calhoun stared in amazement.