“But Edith? Can’t you tell me what she did?” “I can’t, Mrs. Varney, for I don’t know. I waited for her in the hall, and when she came out she couldn’t speak. Then we hurried home. I tried to get her to tell me, but she wouldn’t say a word except that her heart was broken, and that’s all I know, Mrs. Varney, truly, truly.” “I believe you, my dear. I know you would tell me if you could.” “I certainly would, for I love——” There was a loud ring at the front door. It was evidently unlocked, for, without waiting for an answer, it was thrown open, roughly, and through the hall and into the drawing-room stalked Mr. Arrelsford. He was wildly excited, evidently in a tremendous hurry, and utterly oblivious to manners or anything else. He had been checked and thwarted so many times that he was in a bad temper for anything. “Is your daughter in the house?” he began roughly, without any further preliminaries or salutation, without even removing his hat. Mrs. Varney drew herself up and looked at him. But he paid no attention to her at all. “Answer,” he said harshly. She bowed her head in the affirmative, scarcely able to speak in her indignation at his manner and bearing. “I wish to see her.” “I don’t believe she will care to receive you at present,” returned her mother quietly. “What she cares to do at present is of small consequence. I must see her at once. Shall I go up to her room with these men, or will you have her down here?” The room had filled with soldiers as the two spoke together. “Neither the one nor the other, sir,” said Mrs. Varney, who was not in the least afraid of Mr. Arrelsford or his soldiers, “until I know your business with her.” “My business,—a few questions,—I’ve got a few questions to ask her. Listen to that noise out yonder? Do you hear those guns and the troops passing by? Now, you know what ‘Attack to-night, Plan 3,’ means.” “Is that the attack!” asked Mrs. Varney. “That’s the attack. They are breaking through our lines at Cemetery Hill. That was the place indicated by ‘Plan 3.’ We are rushing to the front all the reserves we have, to the last man and boy, but they may not get there in time.” “What, may I ask, has my daughter to do with it?” “Do with it? She did it!” asserted Arrelsford bitterly. “What!” exclaimed Mrs. Varney, in a great outburst of indignation. “How dare you!” “We had him in a trap, under arrest, the telegraph under guard, when she brought in that commission. We would have shot him in a moment, but they took me prisoner and let him go.” “Impossible!” whispered Mrs. Varney. “You don’t mean——”