THE SPY OF THE MISSISSIPPI.

B Mrs. C. M. Sawyer.
CHAPTER X.

THE face of the Confederate leader wore an expression that was both sad and stern as, at a sign from him, Florence silently, but with some trepidation, took a seat before him. He was occupied with writing, and scarcely raised his eyes to his guest, but went on with his work as if scarcely conscious of her presence. But, somehow, Florence grew pale. It might have been for want of sleep, yet it is certain that his altered manner, his omission to bid her the kind, hearty good-morning which, during her long intimacy in his family, he had never omitted before, was ominous to her of a coming ordeal from which she shrunk. Her heart rose to her mouth as she involuntarily thought of recent passages in her history so important to her to conceal from him, but which she had no certainty were not already known to him. But she grew calm as she sat thus unnoticed, and as she studied the appearance of her host, it struck her as being much changed. It gave painful evidence of suffering, such as she had never observed in his aspect before, but whether from physical or mental cause she could not determine. She had an imperfect idea of the straits to which the city had for want of food been long reduced, and a pang shot through her at the thought that if he in his high position knew what hunger was, how must it be with the thousands of the lower stratum of society, far down out of sight and buried in poverty and want.

Florence partly misjudged the case before her. She did not know how nearly she herself was concerned in the trouble she read in the face of her host. He was deeply disturbed by the accusations brought against her, the widow of one whom he had prized as a valued friend, and who herself had always been regarded by him with great personal esteem and even affection. The partial examination to which he had subjected her the day before, while it had elicited nothing absolutely criminal, had failed to remove the doubts which the accusations of Dr. Gates had infused into his mind, and

which were from several causes peculiarly painful. But that he had been deceived, betrayed by her, that she had been an enemy to the Confederacy while he had imagined her one of its friends, was more than he could bring himself to believe. True the statements of the Confederate spy gave stunning evidence against her, but were they to be relied on? Were they not rather the fruits of personal enmity and spite, and without foundation in fact? Had not the fellow with his evil countenance, his sly, ambiguous smile, poisoned the hot but credulous doctor against her, knowing how certainly he would endeavor to bring her to judgment. Why had he left the house clandestinely after he had been ordered to remain until he should have been confronted with the accused? "No!" was his conclusion; "she is not guilty, she has been foolish, indiscreet, imprudent; but she is no traitor." As these thoughts passed rapidly through his mind, he roused from his abstracted position, and looking suddenly up, fixed his eyes on Florence. Nothing could have been less suspicious than her appearance and he gathered hope from the calm, pallid face that met his eyes.

"She is wearied and terrified," thought he, " and no wonder; this fearful thunder of mortar and cannon is enough to blanch the rosiest cheek."

The

And well he might think thus, for the bombardment which had that morning been renewed with redoubled fury, now thundered over the doomed city with a roar like a volcano in eruption. screams of the shells hurling through the air seemed unusually distinct and piercing, and the general rose to look from the window, when a terrific crash struck their ears. The sound of falling stone and mortar instantly followed, and then a suffocating smoke made up of dust and the fumes of burning powder and sulphur penetrated the room.

"The house is struck," he exclaimed, as a confused noise of running feet and screaming voices drew near, the door burst open, and a crowd of frightened and trembling domestics tumbled pelltell into the room.

“O Lors, massa," chattered one, rolling his white eyes in all directions, "we're all killed now, shore! De shells is bustid and de roof braked in and de house all tore to pieces, massa, - and what we gwine do now?"

The atmosphere of the room grew stifling with the dust and smoke which rushed in with the servants, and Pemberton saw that an immense opening had been made through the outer walls; the staircase was torn away and lay a heap of dusty ruins on the floor. But he was a man of nerve and courage whose spirits rose with the occasion.

"Go out!" said he to the servants in a cool, collected manner, which instantly produced a quieting effect upon them. The danger is over now. After six months of bombardment, it is hardly worth while to begin to tremble now."

"You are terrified, also," said he, turning to Florence with the first kind words he had addressed her, as she sat pale and still, but with an expansion of the eyes which denoted great inward disturbance.

"It is difficult not to be so in a scene like this," she replied. "I think, too, that my nerves are not as strong as usual to-day."

A second shell at this moment went crashing through the room where they sat, dislodging stone and mortar as before, and knocking a huge segment from its outer angle.

"Be calm! another will hardly strike in one spot," said the general again, kindly endeavoring to quiet the agitation of Florence, who now sat cowering and pallid, more terrified by the unearthly screams of the servants than by the shell itself. They will undoubtedly soon change the range, and we shall be quiet again."

In fact this was immediately the case. They saw the shells describing arc after are in the sky, but none fell in the direction of the dwelling, and the servants, subsided into their usual quiet, were soon busied in clearing away the rubbish from the hall and sitting-room, and endeavoring to restore matters to some degree of comfort. Fortunately no damage from

fire accrued, and when the debris of stone and mortar was removed, nothing but the breach in the wall and a large amount of disfiguring dust remained, as witnesses of the disaster.

Meanwhile the preparations for breakfast, which had been rudely interrupted, were resumed, and it was soon announced as ready. The general, politely escorting the lady to the breakfast-room, gravely bade her be seated and took his place opposite at the head of the table. It was brilliant with silver, cut-glass, porcelain, and snow-white linen, but one not accustomed to the fare to which the wealthiest of the inhabitants of Vicksburg had long been reduced would have wondered at the sparseness as well as the quality of the food which had been provided for the breakfast. A large junk of coarse salt beef graced the centre of the table flanked on one hand by a small plate of hard biscuits, which a close inspection would have demonstrated to be both mouldy and wormy, and on the other," by a dish of coarse, musty hasty-pudding. A small pitcher of milk was added, and this was all that was on the table. A colored waiter however, immediately entered with a dish of smoking meat which with much pomp and preparation he placed before his master.

"Ah! a steak? Where did you get this, Pompey? I hope you have not killed the cow. It would never do to kill the goose which lays the golden egg!'

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Oh, no, mars! dat ar piece o' de ole mule, sah, what de shell been done and killed, sah. Ye see, mars. it a good ting dat him killed, cos de mulb'y leaves all stripped off de trees, sah, and de mule wouldn't eat de leaves ob de oder trees, and ye knows, mars, dat de hay all gone, long, long ago; so de mule war getting bery poor, sah!"

The general sighed, but turning his attention to his guest, politely offered her a small piece of the mule meat.

"It is sorry fare," said he, "but the cursed Yankees have left us nothing better."

Florence had not yet learned to endure the disgusting food, but thinking it preferable to the other viands on the ta

ble, swallowed a morsel or two and finished her meagre breakfast with a halftumbler of milk which was sweet and good.

"We shall grow thinner than we are now," remarked the general with a sad smile. "Distasteful as is this, we shall fare worse by and by. Our horses and mules are on the verge of starvation, and will soon be little better than skeletons. We have a little of this mouldy, wormy bread still left. You don't seem to fancy it. For my part I am quite learning to like it," he continued, craunching a piece between his teeth; "and while we have enough wormy bread and skeletonmule-steaks, the cursed Yankees will hardly get into the city."

"But have all 'the inhabitants even this to stay their hunger? inquired Florence, with a sudden pang of pity and doubt.

"I fear not. Indeed, I have reason to know that there is unheard-of suffering among the poorer classes. It is not uncommon to find women and children dead from mere starvation."

"And you still hold out against the besiegers? Is it chivalrous and noble to permit women and children to die of hunger merely to avoid that blow to their pride which our leaders would suffer by surrender?" inquired Florence, a quick flush rising to her cheeks.

The general laid down his knife and fork and looked up at this bold interrogation, a blaze of resentment flooding and glowing all over his face. "Your question might have been put by a Yankee; but one would hardly expect to hear such sentiments from a true Southerner. The honor of the Confederate leaders is of far more importance, madam, than the preservation of the lives of women and children."

"But how long is this principle to be put in practice?" inquired Florence, a little less boldly than before.

"As long as the cursed Yankees maintain their siege, or until Johnston arrives to reinforce me."

Florence suddenly began to nibble a little at one of the crackers, but the keen eye of her host, which was watching her,

detected a peculiar expression on her face which he was not slow to read. Rising from the table, he led the way into another room which had not suffered from the fiery missiles of the enemy, and formally bidding Florence be seated, placed himself directly in her front, and she saw that the time of her expected ordeal had come.

I should apologize, madam," said he, with frigid politeness, "for detaining you from your children, though it is possible," he added, with a sardonic smile,

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they may not be unaccustomed to even longer absences. At all events, duty requires me, before permitting you to return to them, to put a few questions to you, which I have no doubt you will answer without hesitation and in a perfectly satisfactory manner.'

Florence bowed.

"You have only to propose them, and if I can answer them, I will do so."

"And without prevarication?" "Nay," she replied, looking him in the face, "it would be useless to assure you of my truth if I am already prejudged. Besides, prisoner as I am, and on the defensive, you certainly would expect me to make the best of my case."

The general colored. "I would not have you look upon me as a master interrogating a slave, or an unscrupulous judge prepared to seize every unwitting admission and turn it to your injury. Acquit me, at least, of wilfully playing the tyrant towards the widow of my old

friend."

The tears started in Florence's eyes, and she seemed on the verge of saying something which was however immediately restrained. After a moment's hesitation, she said, "I will acquit you of everything intentionally unjust or cruel. At the same time I think I may justly complain of being suddenly torn from my children and my sick relative."

"For the latter," remarked the gen eral, with another grim smile, "give yourself no uneasiness. He is in most excellent keeping."

Florence started. "Where is he then? You surely have not been so cruel as to endanger his life by removal

The heart of Florence sunk, but she struggled against every manifestation of her feelings, lest a betrayal might exasperate the general and increase the rigors of Carleton's imprisonment. Nevertheless, she could not avoid the observation, —

"It is much to assume that a stranger's care is better than his own nearest relations."

"It is an assumption I am willing to abide by, madam. My conscience does not accuse me. I hope yours may be equally clear," he added, in a stern, significant voice.

Florence's cheek changed a little at this, and, before she could summon words to reply, her interrogator continued, gazing full in her face,

"I have not yet been able distinctly to understand how this young man came to be wounded and under your protection.

"He was wounded not far from my cave by a Minie ball, and what so natural as that I, his nearest relation, should cause him to be brought in that I might take care of him?"

"Had he been to visit you?"

"Not at that time, though he has often done so both before the war and since it commenced. You know he was left joint guardian of my children, and it is scarcely generous to punish him or me for seeing one another."

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"Not for that, nor do you suppose it. The cruelties of this war are sufficient without my desiring unnecessarily to increase their rigor. But can I in any case be sure that no disloyal intercourse takes place when the North and the South meet without arms in their hands? In your case, I learn of strange absences

It is a shallow artifice, madam," said he, at length, pausing before her, "and one quite unworthy of you. Florence McAlpine, your nature is too transparent to wear disguises successfully, and in our further conversation let me entreat and advise you to deal with me in perfect frankness. I know more of your recent movements, perhaps, than you are aware of. Have you ever visited General Grant in the disguise of a boy, French boy?"

A thousand blushes rushed like a crimson flood over the cheeks of Florence at this home question, but she did not avoid the eye of her interrogator, who stood still and looked her in the face, while anger, contempt, and pain by turns were painted on his own.

"I am answered," said he, sadly; "I would I could attribute the unwomanly step to girlish folly, or even the levity which widows are sometimes said to manifest, but I fear it has a deeper, more criminal root." He paused a moment and added in a low, distinct tone, "Florence, I believe you to be a traitor!"

"I am no traitor!" she exclaimed, her starry eyes glowing with a noble denial, as in a moment she cast off all unworthy pretence and bravely dared the emergency

before her. "I am no traitor, General Pemberton! I am true to my heart's core to my country which you have deserted, to its government which you have rebelled against, and to every stripe and star of the beloved flag under whose folds both your ancestors and mine fought at Lexington and Bunker Hill."

Had a bombshell exploded at his feet, the Confederate leader could not have been more stunned. With all his suspicions, and notwithstanding the accusations of Dr. Gates and the spy, Redman, for nothing like this had he been prepared. He looked at the woman before him as if doubting the evidence of his senses, and, too bewildered for the moment to take in half its bearing on himself. Gradually, however, the fact first made itself clear to him that no one so untrue to the cause he had espoused and was hazarding his all to defend, breathed in battered and doomed Vicksburg as she. Slowly gathering up his wrath, he was about to hurl it upon her, as he would hurl destruction upon the cause she thus boldly avowed, but something in her eye checked him, a something brave and grand and noble, that, without his knowing why, seemed to lessen him in his own esteem, and shame the tide of reproach and anger which was just ready to ebb from his lips. This girlish thing, this young, defenceless woman, with everything of a pecuniary and social nature to induce her to link her fortunes with the Confederates, was she the one to dare, thus alone and surrounded by danger, to stand up for the old flag, to expose her great wealth, her social position, her good name, her life even, for its sake? and - bolder still

was she the one to dare hurl it in his teeth that he, instead of herself, was the shameless traitor? He felt himself strangely positioned, and asked himself, with a sudden gush of secret regret, if it were not all true. Had not he, and, with scarcely an exception, every Confederate officer, been educated under the folds of the old flag, cherished favorites and lifelong pensioners of the government against which they had rebelled and plotted like venomous serpents, to sting to death, even

while the recipients of its cherished favors? Had they not voluntarily and without provocation, even while accepting largesse for its protection, violently taken down the old, world-honored flag which had been their sheltering mother in all lands and trampled it under sacrilegious feet, as if there were "none so poor as to do it reverence"? If this were so, what then was the name which really belonged to them?

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Traitor! traitor!" hissed a thousand voices in his shamed and consciencestricken heart, while, through it all, every fibre of his frame for the one generous moment gloried in the bravery and fidelity of the woman before him. But with a quick revulsion he put the thought and the feeling from him, for they came too late. Whatever had been in the past, that now lay behind him and was all broken, dissevered, from the present. The gulf of rebellion yawned wide and deep between the old government and the new,

between the divided North and South, and no bridge could ever span it. They were committed to Secession and for Secession, whatever might betide them now, they must fight to the last. They had embarked on an unknown sea, cut loose from the old moorings with but a doubtful pilot, and, with all sails spread, had recklessly drifted out into deep and stormy waters, with breakers around and a threatening sky above them.

In far less time than it has taken to recount them, unwelcome thoughts and feelings like these passed through the mind of the Confederate leader, but the secret regret and self-condemnation which for the moment so deeply disturbed him, were resolutely banished. What had been, had been, and anger that any one should have had the power thus, even for a moment, to overwhelm him with a sense of perfidy and dishonor now took the place of every better feeling and stung him all the more deeply that he felt its unworthiness.

Turning suddenly to Florence, whose frank and bold avowal of her love and devotion to the old flag had given a courage in proportion to her danger, a courage which still beamed bravely from