“Do you see what this is? All the ladies in the county are knitting stockings for the soldiers. Very well; I concluded that I would knit some stockings for my soldier, for Neville. I felt so triumphant when I told Aunt Sophia about it. She said nothing--you know that icy silence which falls upon her whenever Neville’s name is mentioned--but she made no objection. Do you know that the Federals paid us another visit night before last?” Yes, Isabey knew it, and knew much more about it than Angela suspected. But he merely asked her how things went off on the occasion. “It was exactly like the night they came after Colonel Gratiot, but this time they didn’t catch anybody. A letter had come from General Farrington saying that he was coming to Harrowby to spend that night. Uncle Tremaine was in a terrible way and so was Aunt Sophia. They didn’t like to write to the general telling him not to come, because it might look inhospitable or as if they were afraid, but it really was quite serious business. Uncle Tremaine swore--the first time, I believe, in forty years--and Aunt Sophia told him that there was a place prepared down below for blasphemers. And then Uncle Tremaine begged her pardon and my pardon and Mr. Lyddon’s pardon and made public confession of his fault that night at prayers. However, when General Farrington didn’t come we all felt easy. But about twelve o’clock the negroes all came running to the house, and we saw the gunboat at the wharf, just as the time before. The house was searched, the stables, and every place, but, of course, no one was found. It is the first time I have ever seen Uncle Tremaine really discomposed, and he has not been like himself since. We lost nothing except our night’s rest. And a great many ridiculous things have happened which I shall tell you about some time.” Angela stopped, suddenly. Something in Isabey’s expressive face gave warning. She looked attentively at him and waited for him to speak. The pause grew awkward and even painful, and Isabey, in spite of his usual self-control, showed a slight agitation. “My dear Mrs. Tremaine,” he said, “I have come here to do you what I hope is a service. I know that you wish very much to join your husband, and this very day I am prepared to take you part of the way.” Isabey said so much by way of preparing her, as he had not the slightest idea that Angela’s acute intelligence would not fathom the whole story very quickly. She did so, even more quickly than he expected. “Yes,” she said, after a moment, looking at him with her piercing sidelong glance, “I do wish to join my husband, but so far he has not sent for me. I may be only an impediment to him. And why should you be the one to take me to him?” “It is necessary that you should go immediately, and I will escort you to the Federal lines.” “Is Neville ill,” asked Angela, adding, after a moment, “or dead?” “Not as far as I know,” answered Isabey. “This has nothing to do with Neville’s well-being.”