The Yankee officer had been ill, Judge Roscoe explained, and, convalescing now, joined the family in their usual gathering places--the library, dining room, on the portico, in the grove. If Leonora or the "ladies" knew of the presence here of Julius, they could hardly preserve in this close association with the enemy an unaffected aspect; so significant a secret might be betrayed in facial expression, a tone of voice, a nervous start. This would be fatal; his life might prove the forfeit. It was a mistake to come, and this mistake must forthwith be annulled. Despite the man in the house, Julius could lie perdu here in the garret, observing every precaution of secrecy, till the ever shifting picket-line should be drawn close enough to enable him to hope to reach it without challenge. They would confide in trusty old Ephraim. He would maintain a watch and bring them news. And old Ephraim, too, would bring up food, cautiously purloined from the table. "The typical raven! appropriately black!" murmured Julius. "Are you hungry now, dear?" Judge Roscoe asked disconsolately, after telling him that he must wait till morning. "If you have such a thing as the photograph of a chicken about you, I should be glad to see it," Julius murmured demurely. Judge Roscoe bent down and kissed him good night on the forehead, then turned to pick his way carefully among the debris of the old furniture. Soon he had reached the stairway, and noiseless as a shadow he flitted down the flight. The young officer lay for a while intently listening, but no stir reached his ear; naught; absolute stillness. For a long time, despite his fatigue, the change, the pleasant warmth, the soft luxury of the feather-bed, would not let him slumber. He was used to the canopy of heaven, the chill ground, the tumult of rain; the sense of a roof above his head was unaccustomed, and he was stiflingly aware of its propinquity. Nevertheless he contrasted its comfort with his own recent plight and that of his comrades a few miles away, lying now asleep under the security of their camp-guards, some still in the mud of the trenches, all on the cold ground, shelterless, half frozen, half starved, ill, destitute, but fired with a martial ardor and a zeal for the Southern cause which no hardship could damp, and only death itself might quench. As he gazed about at the grotesqueries of the great room, now in the sheen of the moon, and now in the shadow of the cloud, he thought how little he had anticipated finding the enemy here ensconced in his place in his father's house, a convalescent, "the son of an old friend, of whom we have all grown very fond." He raged inwardly at the destruction of his cherished plans wrought by the mere presence of the Federal officer. The joy of his visit was brought to naught. Dangerous as it would have been under the best auspices, its peril was now great and imminent. Instead of the meeting his thoughts had cherished,--the