There is a young girl of fifteen standing beside the woman, who has earnestly watched me, and she answers my question: "She is my sister," she says in a trembling voice--"she is my sister, and she is dying." "It is so," says the woman. "The doctor says she is in the last stages of diphtheria, and can live but a few hours. Captain Mitchell came back because he heard she was dying. If you don't believe me, you can come in and look for yourself." "No," I answer, "if this family is in such affliction, we will be the last persons to intrude. I will withdraw the most of my men; and you, my girl, may go back to your sister, and feel assured that no one shall disturb you during the remainder of the night." They seem surprised, and, thanking me, go in. I post a man at each corner of the house, and the others go back to bivouac in the court-house square. I am much perplexed what to do. It shall not be said that we searched a house while a girl was dying, and yet it may be a trick, and he within. Walking up and down upon the court-house steps, I think the matter over, and determine on this course: There is a physician attending this girl, and there is another here in whom I can implicitly trust. At sunrise I have routed these two gentlemen out, and marched them down to the house. I then send for Mrs. Mitchell. She comes out, pale from night-watching, and looks with no friendly eye on the pursuers of her husband and the disturbers of her child. "Captain Mitchell is not here," she says calmly. "He took leave of his daughter, and went away yesterday. She has only an hour or two to live." "I don't dispute your word, Mrs. Mitchell; I feel for you in your affliction, and know how harsh and unkind my actions must seem; but it is my duty to search this house. Yet I will do all I can for you. I will keep my guards on the outside; or I will let Dr. Matheson go with your physician, and if they report to me that your daughter is as ill as you say, then I will let them make the search." "I don't object to this, sir; it will not frighten my daughter." The two doctors go in, and Mrs. Mitchell continues standing beside me on the piazza. "You have a hard lot," I say; "your husband away at such a time--near you, and yet unable to return." "Yes, a very hard lot," she answers with a sigh. The two doctors come out, and Dr. Matheson says: "She is nearly gone; it is diphtheria--the last stage." "Then search the house, gentlemen, thoroughly, from top to bottom, in every room and closet; examine every bed and corner." They come out again, and report that he is not in the house. The guards return their sabres and march away; and Mrs. Mitchell, to my surprise, holds out her hand and says, "I don't blame you, sir, for what you've done; I wish all others had treated us as kindly." Much as I desired to arrest him, I confess that I am greatly relieved. Arresting a father at the bedside of his dying daughter would mar the pleasant memories of my last scout in Tennessee.