“Then the sergeant went up and, taking the newspaper out of the lieutenant’s hand, threw it into the fireplace. ‘Look here,’ he said, ‘I have been thirty years in the United States army and I never heard an officer say anything like that before to a woman. You have been in the army about three months. You got your commission because your father made a lot of money in a pawnbroking shop. The major’s just outside, and if you say another impudent word to this lady I’ll prefer charges against you as soon as we get back to camp.’ You should have seen the lieutenant wilt then. “The major was a big, oldish sort of man, very polite, but bent on finding Captain Isabey if he could. He had every hole and corner searched, and asked all the negroes what had become of you. They all owned up that you had been at Harrowby at supper-time, but none of them had seen you since. Mammy Tulip defied them and called them ‘po’ white trash.’ Uncle Hector went and hid in the garret closet and was hauled out by the heels when that place was searched. While they were looking about the grounds and stables the soldiers wrung the necks of all the fowls they could lay their hands on; but the horses were all out in the field and they didn’t trouble the cattle or sheep. The worst thing they did was when they found all father’s bottles of hair dye and caught my white pointer and poured the dye all over him. He’s as black as a crow. That made father furious. “Mr. Lyddon was very cool through it all. He told the Yankees he was a British subject, but they were perfectly welcome to search his room, only if they laid their hands on anything he would report it to the British Minister at Washington. At last they seemed to give up finding Captain Isabey, and then the major sent for me. I made out I was scared to death, and when the major talked very threateningly to me, to make me tell what had become of Captain Isabey, I whispered in his ear that Captain Isabey had gone to spend the night at the rectory, seven miles off; and so I have sent them off after Mr. Brand. They will get there about midnight, and I don’t believe Mr. Brand will be alive to-morrow morning. They will frighten the old fellow to death.” And Archie chuckled, gloating over Mr. Brand’s prospective sufferings. “Then they all rode down the road. As soon as the last one had ridden off I took your saddle and bridle and slipped into the field and got your horse, and here he is, and if you will follow the road through the woods to Greenhill you can strike the main road in an hour, and there will be at least ten miles between you and the Yankees. They will be going lickety-split in the wrong direction.” Isabey grasped Archie’s hand, while Angela, throwing her arms around his neck, kissed him, whispering: “Oh, what a clever boy you are, and how proud Neville and Richard will be of you!”