gests a new idea, or the
corroboration of an old one.

"Or a trusted agent of the Federal Government, giving up old prejudices
for the sake of patriotism, and better acquainted with Seward than
Slidell--eh?"

"By George!" exclaimed Leslie, "there is something in that idea! He must
be one of the three--but which?"

"That we may know better one of these days," said Harding, as Leslie
accompanied him out to the street. "Meanwhile he is certainly a most
singular person, and I shall not be sorry to know more of him, whether
as friend or foe to the nation!"

How soon and how remarkably his wish was fulfilled, to some extent, we
shall see hereafter.

CHAPTER II.

THE INVALID AND THE WILD MADONNA--A BRAVE HEART BEATING THE BARS OF ITS
PRISON--ODD COMFORT AND DOUBTFUL CONSOLATION--THE DAWN OF A TERRIBLE
SUSPICION.

In the neat and tastefully-furnished back parlor of a house on West
3--th Street, one afternoon, at very nearly the same period mentioned in
a previous chapter--the latter part of June, 1862--lay on the sofa a
young man, of perhaps twenty-five, with a countenance that would have
been strikingly handsome if it had not been drawn and attenuated by
suffering. He had a well-chiselled face, clear blue eyes, and
light-brown, curling hair, closely shaven of beard or moustache; still
showing, spite of sickness, the manly nature that lay within, and which
always makes, when it radiates outward, a pleasanter picture for the eye
of a true woman than can be supplied by even high health and the most
perfect physical beauty without it. The limbs, extended upon the sofa as
he lay, though a little attenuated like the face, showed that they were
well-formed and athletic. And the hand, drooping over the side of the
couch, though too thinly white to suggest a love-pressure, indicated, in
the taper of the fingers, and the fine round of the back, without any
coarse protruding knuckles, what a handsome little Napoleonic hand it
must have been when the owner was in full health and the life-blood
coursing freely through his veins.

By the appearance of the little back parlor, it seemed to be half
sick-room and half study, for, in addition to the sofa and an
easy-chair, there was a well-filled book-case, in walnut, and a
writing-desk open on a small table, with blank paper, some manuscripts,
pens, ink, and a book or two lying open, as if the occupant had been
writing not long before, and lain down from pain and weariness, w