le. I cannot leave the city now."

"Why not?"

"Because I have a capital operation to perform at ten o'clock."

Nancy gazed at him in consternation. "Why, Doctor, you have always said
that when the Cause needed your services you would not fail...."

"Nor will I, when the Cause _really_ needs me. But at present you are
better equipped to carry these messages through the lines than I."

Nancy fingered the table ornaments for a moment in silence; then raised
her troubled eyes to her listener's face.

"I have sent my last despatch," she announced quietly.

"What!" The doctor could not believe his ears. "Why?"

"Because I refuse to deceive people any longer. I was brought up to
believe a lie an abomination of the Lord--and I have been a living lie
for three long years!"

"You have developed a New England conscience," growled Boyd.

"Do you think all the virtues belong north of Mason and Dixon's line?"
retorted Nancy hotly. "For shame!"

"I beg your pardon," the old surgeon bowed toward her with stately
courtesy. "Do be reasonable, child. This operation I am to perform
means not only life to the patient, but much to science. Besides, I
doubt if the authorities would allow me to leave Washington to-day.
Now, your plans for leaving the city are already made; therefore it
will be a very simple, easy matter for you to carry those papers into
Virginia. You will run little risk..."

"I am not hesitating on that score," broke in Nancy. "I would give my
life gladly for the 'bonnie blue flag'--_in the open_. It is the
underhand methods--the spying--the deceit--that burn like a red-hot
coal." Nancy paused; then continued more quietly: "There _is_ such a
word as '_honor_'." She drew out another slip of paper from the bosom
of her dress and tossed it, together with the paper already in her
hand, on the table. "You must find another messenger."

"Missy, Missy, what yo' talkin' 'bout?" Nancy and the doctor both
started. They had forgotten Sam's presence. "Is yo' goin' back on yo'
gibben word--_yo'_--a Newton?"

The girl's face whitened. She started to speak, but the negro gave her
no opportunity to do so.

"Has yo' done forgot dat Sunday night?" he asked, leaning forward
across the table in his earnestness. "Dat night when I fotched yo' from
Newton Manor to Massa's bedside?" His voice deepened, the musical voice
of the emotional African.

In Nancy's mind distinct and vivid rose the memory of that wild ride
through the n