She was sitting with her face buried in her hands, as many another maiden has sat, “counting the cost.” All her life long, Arthur Tunbridge had followed her with his love, till she was tired of the contest. Nothing she had ever said disheartened him. No rebuff, however severe, had availed to keep him quiet. She knew he loved her, and perhaps she might in time love him. It would make the old Judge and his wife so happy, while Charlie liked Arthur so much. Other people liked him, too. He was very popular, and she well knew that she was envied by many a proud maiden for the attentions of the agreeable Lieut. Tunbridge. Besides, if Arthur pledged himself to help the escape of prisoners, he would keep his word, and so through her much good might be done, and hearts made happy perhaps. Others had willingly sacrificed their lives for their country, and why should she shrink from sacrificing her happiness, if by it so many lives could be saved? Was it not her duty to cast self aside and think only of the suffering she could relieve with Arthur as her ally. Maude was selling herself for her country, and with one great throb of bitter pain, she said at last: “I will deal frankly with you, Arthur, as I always have. You are not disagreeable to me. I like you very much as a friend. I miss you when you are away, and am glad when you come back; still, you are not just what I have imagined my future husband to be. I like you for the good I know there is in you, and I may learn to love you. I shall lead you a horrid life if I do not, for it is not in my nature to affect what I do not feel. If I cannot love you, I shall learn to hate you, and that will be terrible.” She was looking at him now, and though he winced a little beneath the blazing eyes, she looked so grand, so beautiful, that, foolish youth as he was, he fancied her hate would be preferable to losing her, and so he said: “Go on, Maude, I am not afraid of the hatred if you always look as you do now.” Something like contempt leaped to her eyes then, but she put it aside, and continued: “I will promise only on conditions. You shall see this Mr. Carleton safely to my Uncle Paul’s. You shall befriend and help every runaway you chance to find. You shall relieve every suffering Union soldier when an opportunity occurs. You shall use your influence for the prisoners, and seek to ameliorate their wretched condition. If you do this, Arthur, and do it faithfully, when the war is over I will try to answer yes. Are you satisfied?” It was a very one-sided affair, and Arthur knew it; but love for Maude De Vere was the strongest passion of which he was capable, and he answered: “I am satisfied,” and kissed the cold hand which Maude placed in his, and thought what a regal creature he had won, and thought, too, how implicitly he would keep the contract, even if it involved a giving up of Jefferson Davis himself into the enemy’s hands.