"Better give it up," growled Baker, whose temper had been sorely tried by his own exploit. "Never!" Lloyd's teeth came together with an ominous click. "I will trap that girl if it takes me months." The President and Nancy led the way up Seventeenth Street to Pennsylvania Avenue and down that thoroughfare toward the White House. Lincoln stopped when he reached the entrance to the War Department. "I am going in here to read the latest despatches," he said. "Good night, Doctor. Miss Nancy, when do you go to Winchester?" "On the early train to-morrow, or, rather, this morning. Good night, Mr. President." "Good night and a safe journey to you." The President watched Nancy and Doctor Boyd out of sight; then turned to Baker. "Don't take it to heart, man. I rather enjoyed your springing at me--it was a new sensation." "Indeed, Mr. President, you should not go out at this time of night without a guard," remonstrated Baker earnestly. "Then such a thing would never have happened. It is not safe for you to walk about without proper protection." "Baker," said the President reminiscently, "you remind me of the little girl who had just been told of the omnipresence of God, and was so upset that she turned angrily upon her pet dog, saying: 'Go back in the house, Peggy. It's bad enough having God tagging 'round, without you.' Good night, Baker," and Lincoln disappeared inside the War Department. CHAPTER VIII A VOICE FROM THE PAST Some hours later Doctor Boyd stepped inside his hall and softly closed the front door. Quickly removing his hat and heavy cloak, he went directly into his back office and felt about in the dark for his match box. It was not to be found in its accustomed place, and an angry exclamation escaped the doctor. Apparently Martha Crane, his trusted old housekeeper, had taken advantage of his absence and tidied up his desk, an act of vandalism which always reduced Boyd to a state bordering on frenzy. "Kin I help yo', suh?" Doctor Boyd's right hand sought his hip pocket, and he faced in the direction from which the voice came. The intruder guessed his intention and spoke hastily. "Fo' God's sake, doan shoot, suh. I'se Sam." And to confirm his statement he struck a match and held it so that his features were visible by the flickering flame. "Well, come in and light this confounded burner," exclaimed the doctor testily, as his fingers slowly relaxed their hold on his weapon. "Next time don't announce your presence so dramatically, Sam, or you may get hurt." "Yessir." The negro stepped with alacrity through the doorway which led to the front office, and applied his half burned match to the gas jet over the doctor's desk. "Miss Martha done told me ter wait in dar." "Confound the woman!" The doctor seated himself in his armchair and contemplated the neatly arranged papers and ornaments on his desk in despair. "Where is she?" "Done gone out," announced Sam briefly. "I tole her I'd be 'sponsible fo' de house 'til she cum back."