edged quietly, determined they should get as little comfort out of me as possible. "I know when I have played my last card."
"Is your name really Wyatt?"
"It is; I am a sergeant in the Staunton Horse Artillery."
"And Miss Harwood—she knew you, as she said, by that name?"
"She did; I was born in this county, and we were children together. If she has attempted to protect me from arrest, it has been because of no disloyalty, but a womanly desire to assist an old friend."
Raymond was far from satisfied, suspiciously glancing from my face to where she stood, white-lipped and silent.
"There is nothing else between you?" he asked roughly. "Do you mean to say she told that story of her cousin's uniform merely because of a girlhood friendship."
"I am unable to say, sir."
"I hardly think, Lieutenant," broke in Whitlock, suddenly realizing his authority. "It is necessary to ask such questions now. The man confesses himself a spy, and a court-martial will probe into this matter. We must remember the young lady is the daughter of Major Harwood."
"And as Major Harwood's daughter," she said
