during the remainder of the afternoon and
throughout supper that his mother's slight attacks of agitation were
recurrent. There was another change in her. She was rarely a
demonstrative woman, even to her son, and though her only child, she had
never spoiled him; but now she was very solicitous for him. Had he
suffered from the cold? Was he to be assigned to some particularly hard
duty? She insisted, too, upon giving him the best of food, and Prescott,
wishing to please her, quietly acquiesced, but watched her covertly
though keenly.

He knew his mother was under the influence of some unusual emotion, and
he judged that this house-to-house search for a spy had touched a soft
heart.

"Mother," he said, after supper, "I think I shall go out for awhile this
evening."

"Do go by all means," she said. "The young like the young, and I wish
you to be with your friends while you are in Richmond."

Prescott looked at her in surprise. She had never objected to his
spending the evening elsewhere, but this was the first time she had
urged him to go. Yes, "urged" was the word, because her tone indicated
it. However, she was so good about asking no questions that he asked
none in return, and went forth without comment.

His steps, as often before, led him to Winthrop's office, where he and
his friends had grown into the habit of meeting and discussing the news.
To-night Wood came in, too, and sat silently in a chair, whittling a
pine stick with a bowie-knife and evidently in deep thought. His
continued stay in Richmond excited comment, because he was a man of such
restless activity. He had never before been known to remain so long in
one place, though now the frozen world, making military operations
impossible or impracticable, offered fair excuse.

"That man Sefton came to see me to-day," he said after a long silence.
"He wanted to know just how we are going to whip the enemy. What a fool
question! I don't like Sefton. I wish he was on the other side!"

A slight smile appeared on the faces of most of those present. All men
knew the reason why the mountain General did not like the Secretary, but
no one ventured upon a teasing remark. The great black-haired
cavalryman, sitting there, trimming off pine shavings with a razor-edged
bowie-knife, seemed the last man in the world to be made the subject of
a jest.

Prescott left at midnight, but he did not reach home until an hour
later, having done an errand in the meanwhile. In t