Mrs. Varney watched him with fascinated awe. In spite of herself there still lingered a hope that Arrelsford might be mistaken. Thorne had enlisted her interest, and he might under other conditions have aroused her matronly affections, and she was hoping against hope that he might yet prove himself innocent, not only because of his personality but as well because the thought that she might have entertained a spy was repugnant to her, and because of the honour of the Dumont family, which was one of the oldest and most important ones in the western hills of the Old Dominion. Arrelsford meantime completed his preparations by moving the couch which Caroline Mitford had placed before the window back to the wall. “Now, Mrs. Varney,” he said, stepping far back out of sight of the window, “will you open the curtains? Do it casually, carelessly, please, so as not to awaken any suspicion if you are seen.” “But your soldiers, won’t they——” “They are all at the back of the house. They came in the back way, and the field in front is absolutely clear, although I have men concealed in the street to stop any one who may attempt to escape that way.” Mrs. Varney walked over to the window and drew back the curtains. She stood for a moment looking out into the clear, peaceful quietness of a soft spring night. The moon was full, and being somewhat low shone through the long windows and into the room, the candle light not being bright enough to dim its radiance. Her task being completed, she turned, and once more the man who was in command pointed across the hall toward the room on the other side. “Are those women in there yet?” he asked peremptorily. “Yes.” “Where is the key?” Mrs. Varney left the room and went to the door. “It is on this side,” she said. “Will you lock it, please?” The woman softly turned the key in the lock, and returned to the drawing-room without a sound. As she did so the noise of the opening of one of the long French windows in the front of the room attracted the attention of both of them. Edith Varney entered the room nervously and stepped forward. She began breathlessly, in a low, feverishly excited voice. “Mamma!” Mrs. Varney hurried toward her and caught her outstretched hand. “I want to speak to you,” whispered the girl. “We can’t wait,” said Arrelsford, stepping forward. “You must,” persisted the girl. She turned to her mother again, “I can’t do it, I can’t! Oh, let me go!” “But, my dear,” said her mother, “you were the one who suggested that——” “But I was sure then, and now——” “Has he confessed?” asked Mrs. Varney. “No, no,” answered the girl with a glance of fear and apprehension toward Arrelsford, who stood staring menacingly at her elbow. “Don’t speak so loud,” whispered the Secret Service Agent. “Edith,” said her mother soothingly, “what is it that has changed you?” She waited for an answer, but none came. The girl’s face had been very pale but it now flushed suddenly with colour.