ch--confronted him, and certainly there was no fear
in her gaze. Prescott saw, too, at the first glance, that she was
transformed. She was dressed in simple white, and a red rose, glowing by
contrast against its whiteness, nestled in her throat. He remembered
afterward a faint feeling of curiosity that in the dead of winter she
should be wearing such a rose. Her eyes, black when she was angry, were
now a deep, liquid blue, and the faint firelight drew gleams of red or
gold, he knew not which, from her hair; the hair itself looked dark.

But it was her presence, her indefinable presence that pervaded the
room. The thin little old maid was quite lost in it, and involuntarily
Prescott found himself bowing as if to a great lady.

"I have meant no harm by coming here," he said; "the secrets of this
house are safe as far as I am concerned. I merely came to inquire after
your welfare. Miss--Miss----"

He stopped and looked inquiringly at her. A faint smile curved the
corners of her mouth, and she replied:

"Catherwood; I am Miss Lucia Catherwood, but for the present I have
nothing more to say."

"Catherwood, Lucia Catherwood," repeated Prescott. "It is a beautiful
name, like----"

And then, breaking off abruptly, warned by a sudden lightning glance
from her eyes, he walked to the window and pointed to the white world
outside.

"I came to tell you, Miss Catherwood," he said, "that the snow lies deep
on the ground--you know that already--but what I wish to make clear is
the impossibility of your present escape from Richmond. Even if you
passed the defenses you would almost certainly perish in the frozen
wilderness."

"It is as I told you, Lucia," said Miss Grayson; "you must not think of
leaving. My house is your house, and all that is here is yours."

"I know that, Charlotte," replied Miss Catherwood, "but I cannot take
the bread from your mouth nor can I bring new dangers upon you."

She spoke the last words in a low tone, but Prescott heard her
nevertheless. What a situation, he thought; and he, a Confederate
soldier, was a party to it! Here in the dim little room were two women
of another belief, almost another land, and around them lay the hostile
city. He felt a thrill of pity; once more he believed her claim that she
did not take the papers; and he tapped uneasily on the window pane with
a long forefinger.

"Miss Catherwood," he said hesitatingly--that he should address her and
not Miss Grayson seemed entire