“I think nothing,” said the girl furiously; “I know that Captain Thorne’s character is above suspicion.” Arrelsford sneered. “His character! Where did he come from—what is he?” “For that matter,” said Edith intensely, “where did you come from, and what are you?” “That is not the question,” was the abrupt reply. “Neither,” said the girl, “is it the question who he is. If it were, I’d answer it—I’d tell you that he is a soldier who has fought and been wounded in service, while you——” Arrelsford made a violent effort to control himself under this bitter jibing and goading, and to his credit, succeeded in part. “We are not so sure of that, Miss Varney,” he said more coolly. “But I am sure,” answered the girl. “Why, he brought us letters from Stonewall Jackson himself.” “Has it occurred to you that General Jackson was dead before his letters were presented?” asked Arrelsford quickly. “What does that signify if he wrote them before he was killed?” “Nothing certainly,” assented the other, “if he wrote them.” “The signatures and the letters were verified.” “They may have been written for some one else and this Thorne may have possessed himself of them by fraud, or——” “Mr. Arrelsford,” cried the girl, more and more angry, “if you mean——” “My dear child,” said Mrs Varney, “you don’t understand. They have proofs of a conspiracy. The Yankees are going to try to break through our lines to-night, some one is going to use the telegraph, and two men in the Northern Secret Service have been sent here to do this work. One is in Libby Prison. Our faithful Jonas has been corrupted. He went there to-day and took a message from one and brought it here to deliver it to the other. They are trying to make him speak out there to tell who——Our country, our cause, is at stake.” “Is this Mr. Arrelsford’s story?” asked the daughter stubbornly, apparently entirely unconvinced. “No; these are facts. We had Jonas in here,” answered her mother; “caught him off his guard, and found the incriminating paper on him.” “But he has not said it was for——” persisted Edith desperately. “Not yet,” whispered Mr. Arrelsford, “but he will. You may be sure of that; we have means to—Oh, Corporal,” he broke off eagerly, looking toward the door where the Corporal stood, his hand at salute. “Well, speak out, what does he say?” “Nothing, sir.” “What have you done with him?” “Strung him up three times, and——” “Well, string him up again,” snarled Arrelsford. “If he won’t speak, shoot it out of him, kill the dog. We don’t need his evidence any way, there’s enough without it.” “There is nothing,” said Edith tersely. “By midnight,” answered Arrelsford, “you shall have all the proof——” “There is no proof to have,” persisted the girl. “I will show it to you at the telegraph office, if you dare to go with me.” “Dare! I will go anywhere, even with you, for that——” “I will call for you in half an hour then,” said Arrelsford, going toward the door.