"Then you won't take it?" and the man's tones held smothered rage. "So, when put to the test, Captain Jack Monroe is afraid to risk what thousands are risking for the cause, at the front and in secret--a life!" "It is just as well not to say 'afraid,' my good fellow," and Monroe's words were a trifle colder, a shade more deliberate. "Do you know what a parole means? I excuse your words because of your present position, which may be desperate. If you are her friend I will do what I can to save you; but the contents of the dispatch I refuse to hear." Judithe entered the door as he spoke, and came forward smilingly. "Certainly; it was not intended that you should. This is the captain of my yacht, and his messages only interest me." "Madame Caron!" and Monroe's tones were imploring, "Consider where you are. Think of the risks you run!" "Risks?" and she made a little gesture of disdain. She felt so much stronger now that the suspense was over--now that the message was really here. "Risks are fashionable just now, Monsieur, and I always follow the fashions." He shook his head hopelessly; words were of no use. He turned away, and remembering that he still held the slip with her account on, he halted and handed it to the stranger, who was nearest him. "I presume these figures were meant for the master of your yacht," he remarked, without looking at her, and passed out on the veranda, where he halted at sight of Masterson running up the steps, and the dusty rider close behind. Judithe had seated herself at the desk and picked up the pen. But as Monroe stepped out on the veranda she turned impatiently: "The despatch?" and she held out her hand. "I was followed--I read and destroyed it." "Its contents?" "Too late, Madame," he remarked, in a less confidential tone, as he laid the slip Monroe had given him on the desk. He had seen Masterson at the door and with him the other rider! Judithe did not raise her head. She was apparently absorbed in her task of addressing an envelope. "I will speak with you directly," she said, carelessly sealing the letter. He bowed and stood waiting, respectfully. Glancing up, she saw Captain Masterson, who had entered from the veranda, and bestowed on him a careless, yet gracious smile. Pluto brought the mail bag in from the hall, and she dropped the letter in, also a couple of papers she took from the top of the desk. "There, that is all. Make haste, please, Pluto," and she glanced at the clock. "I should not like that letter to miss the mail; it is important." "Yes'm, I gwine right away now," and he turned to the door, when Masterson stepped before him, and to his astonishment, took the bag from his hand. "You can't take this with you," he said, in a tone of authority. "Go tell Colonel McVeigh he is needed here on business most important." Pluto stared at him in stupid wonder, and Judithe arose from her chair.