"I don't know about that," said Colonel Clay. "You may be able to serve your country even in a greater capacity than you yet have. I have some important documents which I would like to get into St. Louis to certain parties. I will not deny that if you were caught with them on your person it would be certain death; but I believe you are both brave and shrewd." "The boy is not able," spoke up Mr. Chittenden. "He has not been out of bed more than a week. His wounds are not healed yet." "So much the better," said Clay. "If he can ride, he can get through where a well man can not." "I will go. A man can die but once, and it is for my country." As Mark said this his eyes fairly seemed to shine. "Bravely spoken, my lad," cried Clay. "Would we had more like you!" So it was arranged that Mark was to make the dangerous journey. "Why do you do this, Mark?" asked Grace when he went to bid her good-bye. "It is for my country," answered Mark. "You mean it is to help destroy your country. I despise the cause for which you fight." "Yes, I know; your father told me." "You knew, and never let on?" "Why should I?" "Because father says I am a traitor to the South." "Grace, if I never come back, remember that there is one who never will despise you, believe what you will." "Take it easy," said Clay to Mark as he started to ride away. "Don't overtax your strength. Two or three days will not matter much." Colonel Clay had liberally supplied Mark with money for the journey; in fact, the Colonel seemed to have plenty of money. "Clay, I don't like it. You should never have sent him," said Mr. Chittenden. "I am afraid he never will live to see St. Louis, and I have grown fond of the boy. We raised him, as it were, from the dead." "Never fear," replied the Colonel. "The same grit that brought him here will take him to St. Louis. If he dies after he gets there--well, it won't matter much. His mission will be done, and it may mean the redemption of the State. What is one life to that?" Grace overheard the heartless remark, and a fierce anger seized her. It was well the Colonel left the next day, for she resolutely refused to serve him or sit at the same table with him. The days passed. Two weeks passed, and then three, and Mark had not returned. Grace grew restless, her father anxious, and Tilly kept asking, "Whar is mah boy?" But one day Mark appeared. He was riding slowly, so slowly, and his face was flushed. It was seen the fever had him again. "Help me off." His voice was almost a whisper. He was helped off, and almost carried into the house, and it was some weeks before he was able to leave it. "I do not regret the journey," he said to Mr. Chittenden. "I was entirely successful in my mission, and I rejoice that I was able to do something for my country, wounded as I am."