night.
It wasn't very modest, perhaps, I was so miserable I didn't care. I just
wanted to put my arms around your neck and tell you to love me
always--that nothing else mattered--"

"Nothing else does matter, dearest--"

"Yes--it does. It matters whether you have used me to betray my people.
Where were you at twelve o'clock night before last?"

"I'd rather not tell you--"

"I demand it--"

A quizzical smile played about Socola's handsome mouth as he faced her
frankly.

"I was in a gambling establishment--"

"Whose?"

"Johnnie Worsham's--"

"What were you doing there? You neither drink nor gamble."

Again the dark face smiled.

"I was asked by my Chief to report on the habits of every man in my
Department--particularly to report every man who frequents the gambling
hells of Richmond--"

Jennie watched him nervously, her hands trembling.

"It's possible of course--"

Her eyes suddenly filled with tears and she threw herself into his
arms.

And then it happened--the little thing, trivial and insignificant,
that makes and unmakes life.

For a long while no words were spoken. With gentle touch he soothed her
trembling body, bending to kiss the waves of rich brown hair.

She pushed him at arm's length at last and looked up smiling.

"I can't help it--I love you!"

"When will you learn that we must trust where we love--"

He stopped suddenly. Her brown eyes were fixed with terror on a single
strand of curling blond hair caught on the button of his waistcoat.

"What is it?" he asked in alarm.

She drew the hair from his coat carefully and held it to the light in
silence.

"You can't be jealous?"

She looked at him curiously.

"Yes. I have a rival--"

"A rival?"

Her eyes pierced him.

"Your love for the Union! I've suspected you before. You've evaded my
questions. Our love has been so big and sweet a thing that you have
always stammered and hesitated to tell me a deliberate lie. It's not
necessary now. I know. Ulrich Dahlgren is the age of my brother Billy.
They used to play together in Washington at Commodore Dahlgren's home
and at ours. He had the most peculiarly beautiful blond hair I ever saw
on a man. I'd know it anywhere on earth. That strand is his, poor boy!
Besides, Dick Welford captured your messenger with that pathetic little
bundle on his way to Washington--"

Socola started in spite of his desperate effort at self-control and was
about to speak when Jennie lifted her hand.