“All de derangements was mos’ unmilitary. Miss Angela. Dey didn’ have no scouts, no aide-de-camps, no ban’ ob music, no nuttin’ ’tall. When me an’ Marse, we stormed de heights at Chapultepec, de ban’ was a-playin’ ‘I wants to be a angel,’ an’, I tell you, me an’ Marse made a heap ob Mexican angels dat day.” “I think, ladies,” said Colonel Tremaine calmly, “that you had better try and get your beauty sleep, which has been so rudely disturbed. If you will excuse me, I will retire. Come, boy,” to Hector, “and get my boots off.” Hector followed the Colonel, still mumbling about the glories of Chapultepec and Buena Vista. All soon took the Colonel’s advice, except Angela and Lyddon, who lingered after the others had departed. Angela, with her newly developed instinct of thrift, blew out one of the candles on the hall mantelpiece. The remaining candle cast a faint light upon the dingy Penelope, who had waited in that spot during a century for her Ulysses. All the events of the night had passed so swiftly that there was not really much to tell, but Angela wanted to hear it all over again and in connected fashion. “Wasn’t it strange,” she said, “that the last time a Confederate officer was here, Captain Isabey, the Federals came after him, although they didn’t get him, and now they have caught Colonel Gratiot?” “No, I don’t think it was at all strange. You may depend upon it, the Federals know all they want to know from the negroes.” “Do you mean to say that these servants of ours, who are our very own, are betraying us?” “Oh, no, that is not the word to use. They wouldn’t betray Richard, but they wouldn’t mind giving a tip about Isabey or Colonel Gratiot. None of you Southern people seems to realize what a stupendous stake the negroes have in this conflict.” “I realize it,” answered Angela, “when we have to depend upon Uncle Hector and Aunt Tulip and half a dozen half-grown black boys and girls to do the work of this house, and you are put to the churn.” Then, suddenly becoming conscious of her unbound hair, she seized it in both hands and with rapid and graceful dexterity wound the shining coils around her head, and fled up the dark stairway. CHAPTER XX A SOLDIER’S ERRAND The capture of Colonel Gratiot, following upon Isabey’s narrow escape, made an immense stir in the county. There had been other descents by night and day upon places, and a few Confederate private soldiers had been picked up, but there had been nothing like the concerted design which had resulted in the capture of officers. From a little spark of suspicion grew a great flame of accusation against Angela. The minds of men and women were so unbalanced, so tortured, so driven hither by calamity, that anything could be believed of anyone.