‘Not at all,’ answered Ephraim sharply. ‘It war jest ez I told ye. I war a civilian tryin’ to escape out of yer lines. But the chance came ter me, and I took it.’ ‘I need not tell you in return that the taking of that chance will cost you your life; for civilian though you may be, you are probably acquainted with the punishment incurred by a spy. It matters not at all that the paper has not been found upon you, since you have been identified and have confessed your guilt’—— ‘Guilt!’ put in Ephraim quietly. ‘I han’t confessed to any guilt ez fur ez I know. I don’t call it a crime ter try and serve my country, whatever ye may do.’ ‘We won’t go into the question of patriotism either,’ returned the provost-marshal. ‘Unfortunately for you, when a man is caught serving his country in the particular fashion in which you have elected to serve yours, there is only one thing to be done with him.’ ‘I’d like ter be allowed ter ask ye, Mister Marshal,’ said Ephraim, ‘ef thar air none er your men prowlin’ around our lines jest ter see what they kin pick up? What’s the difference between them and me? Ain’t they servin’ their country, too, accordin’ ter their lights?’ ‘I’ll allow that,’ answered the provost-marshal. ‘And if your fellows can lay them by the heels, they will serve them as we shall serve you—namely, hang them. But now, my man, seeing that you can’t get off, and that there is but one end in store for you, you may as well tell me what you have done with the despatch.’ ‘It’ll make no difference to me, ye say? Ter the hangin’, thet is?’ queried Ephraim. The provost-marshal shook his head. ‘Not the slightest,’ he said. ‘Then hang away and welcome. Ye’ll git no more out er me.’ The provost-marshal considered for a moment. It was important to ascertain if possible whether the despatch had reached the enemy or not. Finally he said: ‘Understand me, my man: I am empowered to deal summarily with cases like yours. I might condemn you out of hand; but if you will tell me truly what you have done with the despatch, I will give you this further chance, that I will refer your case to the general in the morning. Speak out now.’ Ephraim considered in his turn. He did not give much for the grace of being brought face to face with General Shields, who he did not doubt would instantly recognise him as the purloiner of his breakfast and the _soi-disant_ ‘Trailing Terror,’ and so the matter would become more hopelessly complicated than ever. But life was sweet, and if he could gain a respite of only a few hours, there was no saying what might happen in the interval. He had risked his life, and would have done so again, to carry the despatch to the Confederate General; but seeing that it was lost and he could by no possibility discover it, why should he not simply say so and take the proffered advantage? ‘Well,’ said the provost-marshal at last, ‘have you made up your mind?’