Nancy laughed softly. "It is well you judge me from the exterior. I assure you I am 'all av a trimble,' and my heart quakes with fear of what the future may have in store for me," and she glanced anxiously at the rough men about her. "Miss Newton, won't you sing for us?" called Captain Tucker across the camp fire. "It is not often we capture ladies, and I am longing for the sound of a woman's voice." "Do," pleaded Goddard, low in Nancy's ear. She hesitated before answering; then: "Certainly, Captain Tucker, provided you will sing first." "Agreed." Tucker cleared his throat, thought a moment, then began: 'Tis years since last we met, And we may not meet again, I have struggled to forget, But the struggle was in vain. For her voice lives on the breeze, And her spirit comes at will; In the midnight, on the seas, Her bright smile haunts me still! Dropping their various occupations the guerillas drew in about the camp fire as the familiar words of the famous rebel song reached them. Few joined in the chorus; they were busy thinking of their sweethearts and wives far away. Tucker glanced appealingly at Nancy as he began the next verse, but her face was averted. I have sailed 'neath alien skies, I have trod the desert path, I have seen the storm arise Like a giant in his wrath; Every danger I have known, That a reckless life can fill; Yet her presence has not flown, Her bright smile haunts me still! A round of applause rang out as Tucker's rich tenor voice ceased. "Be quiet, you fellows," he directed. "Now, Miss Newton, I hold you to your promise." Nancy looked about her. The fire had not been replenished, and the darkness was creeping in. It was difficult to clearly distinguish each man's face by the flickering light from the hot embers, but Goddard's expression caught her attention. Her woman's intuition read, and read aright, what he but dimly realized. A burning blush dyed Nancy's pale cheeks, and for a moment her heart beat more rapidly; then sank. She was a rebel--a spy; he a--ah, not hated--Yankee--a gallant, _honorable_ foe. She must not encourage him. That should not be charged against her when the reckoning came. The old words, "he who breaks--pays," recurred to her. Let hers be the pain, not his. She forgot "My Old Kentucky Home," instead came the words: Take back the heart that thou gavest, What is my anguish to thee? Take back the freedom thou cravest, Leaving the fetters to me. Take back the vows thou hast spoken, Fling them aside and be free. Her eyes caught and held Goddard's. Would he understand? Smile o'er each pitiful token, Leaving the sorrow for me; Drink deep of life's fond illusion, Gaze on the storm-cloud and flee Swiftly, through strife and confusion, Leaving the burden to me.