“Joyce, what is it?” he cried. “Are you sick?” “Not sick, only a little weary,” she answered, as she sank into a chair and motioned for the nurse to leave them. No sooner was she gone than Joyce told Calhoun what had happened. Her voice was so passionless that Calhoun wondered if she cared, wondered if he had been mistaken in thinking she loved him. “Joyce, do you care if I go to prison?” he asked. “Care?” she cried. “The thought is terrible. You shall not go, I will save you.” “Joyce! Joyce! tell me that you love me, and it will make my cell in prison a heaven. Don’t you see that I love you, that you saved my poor life only that I might give it to you? Joyce, say that you love me!” For answer she sank on her knees by his bedside and laid her head on his breast. He put his weak arms around her, and held her close. For a while she remained still, then gently disengaging his arms, she arose. There was a look on her face that Calhoun did not understand. “The first embrace, and the last,” she sighed. “Oh, Calhoun, why did we ever meet?” “What do you mean?” he asked, his lips growing white. “I mean that our love is hopeless. Father will never consent to our marriage. I feel it, know it. Without his consent I shall never marry. But save you from prison I will.” “Joyce, you do not love me!” said Calhoun bitterly. “As my life,” she cried. “Yet you say you can never marry me!” “Without my father’s consent I cannot.” “Joyce, let us not borrow trouble. Even with your father’s consent we could not marry now. I am a prisoner. The war is going on, but it cannot last forever. When it is over, when peace is declared, I will come to you. Then, and not till then, will I ask your father for your hand. Let us hope the skies will be brighter by that time—that to be one of Morgan’s men will not be a badge of dishonor, even in the North.” “Oh, Calhoun, if I could only hope! I will hope. Come to me after the war is over. Father’s consent may be won. But now the prison, the prison. I must save you. I have thought it all out.” “How can you save me, a poor, weak mortal, who cannot take a step without help?” asked Calhoun. “Put you in a carriage to-morrow night and take you where they cannot find you.” “So soon? The Doctor said he would ask for two weeks. Two more weeks with you, Joyce—I could afford to go to prison for that.” “Don’t talk foolishly. I feel if I don’t get you away to-morrow night, I cannot at all.” “But you—will it endanger you, Joyce?” “Not at all!” “But how will you explain my disappearance?” “Suppose you have been shamming, better than we thought you were, and so you gave us the slip.” “A right mean trick,” said Calhoun.