For a moment not a word was spoken, and then Lieutenant Haines turned on Mr. Osborne and said, bitterly, “I congratulate you on the success of your plot. I will not be fool enough again to take the word of a Southern gentleman.” Mr. Osborne flushed deeply, but before he could reply, his daughter sprang in front of him, and faced Lieutenant Haines with flashing eye. “I will not have my father accused of deception and falsehood,” she cried. “He knew nothing of that Confederate being concealed in the house. I alone am to blame, and I told you nothing. I strove to entertain you and keep you from searching the house, and I accomplished my purpose.” “And you got those letters from me to give to him?” “Yes.” Lieutenant Haines groaned. “It may be some satisfaction to you,” he said, “to know that this may mean my undoing, disgrace, a dishonorable dismissal from the service.” “I shall take no pleasure in your dishonor,” she exclaimed, the color slowly mounting to her cheeks. “I did not intend that Lieutenant Pennington should show himself. It was his rashness that has brought all this trouble.” “How can I return to camp without arms, without a horse? It would have been a kindness to me if your friend Lieutenant Pennington had put a bullet through my brain.” Mr. Osborne now spoke. “Lieutenant Haines,” he said, “my daughter speaks the truth when she says I knew nothing of the Confederate officer being in my house. Had I known it, I should have tried to conceal him, to protect him; but I should not have invited you to be my guest. As my guest, you are entitled to my protection, and I shall make what reparation is in my power.” Then turning to the colored boy who had stood by with mouth and eyes wide open, he said, “Tom, go and saddle and bridle Starlight, and bring him around for this gentleman.” “Surely you do not intend to give me a horse, Mr. Osborne,” said Haines. “As my guest, I can do no less,” replied Mr. Osborne. “If Lieutenant Pennington had not taken his, I should have let him have one to continue on his way to Kentucky. So you see, after all, I am out nothing.” Just then they were aroused by the sound of horses’ feet, and looking up they saw Sergeant Latham accompanied by two soldiers coming on a gallop. Riding up, the Sergeant saluted, and casting his sharp eyes around, said, “Lieutenant, excuse me, but you were so long in joining us that I feared something—an accident—had befallen you, so I came back to see. Where in the world is your horse, Lieutenant?” “Coming,” answered his superior, briskly, for he had no notion of explaining just then what had happened. When the colored boy came leading an entirely strange horse with citizen saddle and bridle on, the Sergeant exchanged meaning glances with his companions, but said nothing.