The Orpheus C. Kerr Papers, Series 2. R. H. Newell

my dear boy, there is some mistake. You—"

      "Enough, Sir!"

      "Oh, very well; if you won't you won't," exclaimed the Confederate youth, growing very red in the face. "All I have to say is, that I have done my part as your friend. If you had been at the bridge at quarter-past Twelve last night, you might be back among the Yankees now. And, let me tell you, those same Yankees will never conquer the South."

      "Perhaps not," said Mr. Peters, ironically.

      "One of our officers has just invented a new gun that will soon teach the North manners," continued the Confederate, with increasing heat. "It throws one-hundred-pound balls as fast as a man can turn the handle."

      "Ah!" said Bob, sneeringly.

      "Yes; and it has but one defect."

      "What's that?" asked Bob, with some appearance of interest.

      "The handle won't turn!" ejaculated the young Virginian, darting hastily from the room to hide his emotion.

      Mr. Peters looked vaguely after the retreating form of the sensitive youth, and as one of the keepers relocked the door again from the outside, his face sank upon his hands. What did his visitor mean by accusing him of not making his appearance at the appointed time? It was exactly quarter-past Twelve when he left the house. "I see how it is," murmured Mr. Peters, between his hands; "the boy has been taking something hot."

      CHAPTER VI.—ANOTHER VISITOR.

      The ladies were taking their usual promenade through the main corridor of the jail, curiously gazing at times through the newly-grated door at the prisoners in the main room, and seasoning their morning gossip with piquant observations on the probable execution of the horrid creatures there confined. Mrs. Peyton took occasion to inform Mrs. Mason that she wouldn't pass a day without taking a look at the wretches for all the world; and Mrs. Mason informed Mrs. Peyton that her life would hardly be endurable if she did not live in hope of seeing all the Abolitionists there yet. Here young Mr. Baron ventured to intimate that the Yankee prisoners were fortunate in being favored with such an array of fair before them; for which he was saluted as an "absurd thing," and received a shower of taps from adjacent fans.

      Miss Adams led her companion, a neighbor's child, to where a keeper was leaning idly against the wall.

      "Are these all your prisoners?" she asked.

      "All but one that was taken last night and is up stairs," replied the official.

      "Is that one on exhibition?"

      "I reckon he is, if you want to see him."

      "Well," said Miss Adams, with an assumption of indifference, "I don't know that it's worth while; but—well, I reckon I will look at him."

      "This way, then, if you please," said the keeper, leading the way up an adjacent flight of stairs and conducting the fair one to the room occupied by Mr. Peters.

      Bob was gazing gloomily out of the window and did not recognize the presence of his new guests until the end of a parasol touched his shoulder.

      "Miss Adams!" he exclaimed, offering his hand.

      The young lady tossed her head haughtily:

      "I don't wish to shake hands with an enemy of my country, sir."

      "I see," said Bob, coolly, "the presence of a third party obliges us to vail our emotions. Keeper, leave the saloon."

      "Pay no attention to him, Keeper," retorted Eve, indignantly, "I wish your attendance."

      Not at all abashed by the severity of her tone, Mr. Peters nodded to the officer and smiled pleasantly.

      "Then I must expose you with a witness to it," he said, good-naturedly; "you are offended, Miss Eve because I did not comply with your kind note and meet your friends at a quarter-of Twelve, instead of walking straight into trouble at quarter-past, as I did."

      "You are beneath my notice," was the answer of Miss Adams; "but since you choose to speak so I must explain myself to this good man here. You are indebted to me for your present situation. I am a Southern woman, sir, and it was my duty as a Southerner, to see that you did not escape to injure our cause by telling some of your Northern falsehoods about us. I wrote you the note you speak of in order that you might be drawn from your hiding place, and also one to the authorities putting them on the watch. I may be a woman, but I have the heart of a man."

      If Miss Adams did not have the heart of a man it was owing to no neglect on her part of any possible means to catch such a heart. That is to say, all her dearest and most intimate female friends said so.

      Her speech was evidently intended to impress the prisoner with a torturing sense of woman's vengeance, but, contrary to her expectation, Mr. Peters received it with the utmost complacency. In fact, he even evinced a playful disposition and favored the attentive keeper with an insidious wink.

      "I don't doubt that your intentions were excellent, Miss Eve," said Mr. Bob Peters, with an air of great enjoyment; "but they did not work as well as your affectionate heart designed. Because—you see—I did'nt come out at a quarter of Twelve at all, nor did I follow any of your directions. Oh, no! It was just quarter-past Twelve by my repeater when I departed from my late residence, and it's my private opinion that your dear friend, Miss Ordeth, had the privilege of being my adviser on that nocturnal occasion. Don't let your sensitive soul be afflicted with the thought that you have wronged confiding innocence," added Bob, pathetically, "for I do assure you that you are as guiltless as the child unborn."

      "What do you mean, sir?" asked Eve, in some haste; "were you not arrested at a quarter of Twelve?"

      "Why no!" said Bob. "Don't I tell you that I didn't break cover until quarter-past?"

      "Well, sir," snarled Eve, with no little irritation, "you're here at any rate, and I hope you'll enjoy the society of your Yankee friends down stairs. I hope you'll all be hung. I do."

      And the injured fair swept magnificently from the room, dragging with her the neighbor's child, and leaving Mr. Peters alone with the keeper.

      "I say, she's a spunky one," remarked the latter. "It's a pity you really did'nt wait till quarter-past. I would'nt trust a woman with such eyes as hers—I would'nt."

      "And I didn't trust them," said Bob. "It was full quarter-past by my repeater when I came out, and if I'm betrayed it's by another woman."

      "Oh, come now," put in the keeper, deprecatingly, "it's all right, you know, between us two. It was'nt but quarter-past when I locked you in here, you know."

      "What!" exclaimed Bob.

      "Fact," said the keeper.

      Mr. Peters deliberately drew out his watch and held it up in full view.

      "By all that's true!" said Bob, "it was quarter-past Twelve by that repeater before I was taken last night."

      The rebel official looked steadily into the eyes of his prisoner for a moment, and then withdrew hurriedly and in silence. He evidently mistrusted the sincerity of Mr. Peters, or believed that a man with such a fast watch was too much ahead of his time to be trusted without a watch of a different kind.

      CHAPTER VII.—UNION SENTIMENT DEVELOPING.

      If some modern Burton would supply the world with an Anatomy of Patriotism, mon ami, I am inclined to believe that his first discovery in the process of dissection would be, that the modern quality of that name is essentially lacking in the anatomical composite of back-bone. Ordinary patriotism in practice, as far as I have been able to observe it, is equivalent, in general aspect and result, to an irresistible force in contact with an immovable body, those who are chiefly carried away with it metaphorically being the last to yield to its impulsion personally. In short, the quality appears to be a sentiment rather than a motive in its character, and moves us to inspire others rather oftener than it inspires us to move ourselves.

      Mr. Victor E. Ordeth was a patriot in the conventional sense of the term, and when the Southern heart was first fired he