Secret Service

Captain Thorne was almost too dazed to realise the purport of the decree. He mechanically saluted, and from his lips broke a murmured,

“Thank you, sir.”

The General looked at him severely, and then, seeing Edith Varney, turned away and engaged in conversation with his staff. His intention was obvious, and Edith immediately embraced the opportunity.

“Oh!” she said; “that isn’t nearly so bad as death,” and before them all she stretched out her hand to him.

“No?” queried Thorne in a low voice.

“No,” she said, forcing herself to look at him. “After a while perhaps – some time – ”

“Oh!” said Thorne. “Some time? If it’s some time, that’s enough.”

Mrs. Varney, having succeeded in getting Howard quiet and composed, had been in the room since the advent of General Randolph.

“Mamma,” said Edith, “won’t you speak to him, too?”

Mrs. Varney approached him, but Wilfred was quicker.

“I would like to shake hands with you,” he said, with boyish enthusiasm.

“What, again?” said Thorne, smiling. “All right.” He stretched out his hand. “Go ahead.”

“And so would I,” said Caroline, following the lead of her boy lover.

“Don’t be afraid now,” said Wilfred. “Everything will be all right. They will give you a parole, and – ”

“A parole!” said Caroline. “Goodness gracious, they will give you hundreds of them, I am sure.”

But General Randolph turned once more.

“One moment, please,” said the officer. As he came forward, the others fell back. Only Edith Varney kept her place close by Thorne’s side. “There is only one reason on earth why the President has set aside a certain verdict of death. You held up that false order and made a turn in our favor. You are not to be tried as a spy, but held as a prisoner of war. We expect you to make that turn complete and enter our service.”

“Never,” replied Thorne instantly. “That’s impossible, sir.”

“You can give us your answer later,” said the General.

“You have it now.”

“You will be kept in close confinement until you come to our terms,” continued the older officer.

“You make me a prisoner for life, then.”

“You will see it in another light before many days, and it wouldn’t surprise me if Miss Varney had something to do with a change in your views.”

“You are mistaken, General Randolph,” quickly interposed Edith. “I think he is perfectly right.”

“Oh, very well,” said the General, smiling a little. “We will see what a little prison life will do. Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I have turned the prisoner over to Major Whitfield. He requests you to take the prisoner to his office, where he’ll take charge of him.”

“Very good, sir,” answered the Sergeant.

“What is it?” whispered Thorne to Edith. “Love and good-bye?”

“No,” answered the girl; “only the first.” She stopped and looked up at him, her face flushed, her heart throbbing, her eyes shining gloriously. “And that every day, every hour, every minute, until we meet again.”

“Thank God,” whispered Thorne. “Until we meet again.”

“Attention!” cried the Sergeant. “Carry arms! Left face! Fall in the prisoner! Forward – March!”

AFTERWORD

And so the great adventure is over, the story is told, and the play is played. It is hard to tell who lost and who won. It made little difference in the end that Marston’s Division had not been withdrawn, and that the attack on Cemetery Hill had failed. It made little difference in the end that Arrelsford had been thwarted in his attempts to wreak his vengeance upon Thorne. It made little difference in the end that Thorne refused to enter the service of the Confederacy, preferring imprisonment for life. For the days of that Confederacy were numbered. It was even then tottering on the verge of its grave, in spite of the brave front it kept up.

Three days after the events of that night, and Richmond had fallen, and presently the last of the Confederate defenders halted at Appomattox. The Stars and Bars were hauled down for the last time. The Army was disbanded. The prisoners were released. There was a quiet wedding in the old house. Howard, happily recovering from his wounds, was present. General Varney himself gave away the bride – reluctantly, to be sure, yet he did it. Wilfred took the place of the brother of Captain Thorne – to continue to call him by the name he had assumed – and acted as the best man. To whom should be given the coveted privilege of attending the bride but to Miss Caroline Mitford! And Miss Kittridge and the few other guests, including General Randolph, saw in the younger couple indications that when a few more years had made it suitable, the two who played the second part on this interesting occasion would be principals themselves.

There was much opposition, of course, to the wedding of Captain Thorne and Edith Varney, and many bitter things were said, but there was no restraining the young people. They had lived and suffered, they had almost died together. The years of peace and harmony and friendship that came to the sections at last, and the present happiness that was theirs immediately, convinced even the most obdurate that what they had done was exactly right.