One night the old woman followed Angela to her room at bedtime, and, after shutting the door, came up to her and whispered mysteriously: “Miss Angela, ef you will wrote a letter to Marse Neville, and watch outen de window to’des my house ’bout twelve o’clock, an’ ef you see me come to de door an’ wave a candle an’ you drap de letter on de groun’, somebody will pick it up, an’ Marse Neville will git it sho’.” “What do you mean, Mammy Tulip?” asked Angela in amazement. “Chile, doan’ you neber ax me what I mean; you jes wrote dat letter an’ gib my lub an’ ’spects to Marse Neville, an’ tell him to say he pra’ers jes’ as reg’lar as he change he shirts. I know he ain’ neber gwine to fergit to change he shirt, wartime or no wartime; an’ you drap de letter outen de window----” She caught Angela by the arm, and continued in an agitated whisper: “Fur Gord’s sake, doan’ tole nobody ’bout drapping de letter on de groun’.” Angela was astonished, but could get no explanation out of Mammy Tulip, except pleadings that she write the letter, and then the old woman waddled off. Angela wrote Neville a long letter, telling him what was happening at Harrowby, the news of Richard and of his mother, of Isabey’s presence there, and lastly assuring him of her love and constant remembrance and desire to join him as soon as possible. It was eleven o’clock before the letter was finished. Formerly Angela could dash off letters to Neville as fast as she could write, but now she wrote carefully weighing every word. She sat on the floor before her fire, looking into the dying embers and puzzling over many things. She could not form the least conjecture how her letter would reach Neville, but a little before twelve o’clock she looked out of her window and saw a candle waving at the door of Mammy Tulip’s house. Then Angela softly raised the sash, and the letter, sealed and addressed, fluttered out into the darkness and dropped upon the snow-covered ground. Angela, after a glance at the black sky and the white earth, put down her window and went to bed, where she soon fell into the deep, sweet sleep, that glorious heritage of youth and health of which she had not yet been robbed. Next morning, however, the explanation of Mammy Tulip’s action became apparent, and the nearness of the Federals was brought home to everyone at Harrowby. Tasso, Jim Henry, Mirandy, Lucy Ann, and more than twenty of the younger negroes failed to report to Hector’s bugle call. When Angela came downstairs to breakfast she saw the unwonted spectacle of Hector laying the breakfast table. “Dem worthless black niggers is done gone to de Yankees,” Hector explained, sententiously, “wid some o’ de likeliest young niggers on dis heah place.” Angela was astounded. “Gone to the Yankees! Gone to the Yankees!” she repeated. “Yes, Miss Angela.” Colonel Tremaine and Lyddon came in and Hector told his story.