She laughed at the grotesque picture he suggested, but asked what he meant by the uniform, and laughed still more when he told her he was going to borrow one for the occasion from Kenneth, as Evilena had announced her scorn for all ununiformed men, and he did not mean to risk failure in a dress suit. Later he had an idea of applying for a uniform of his own as surgeon in the army.

"If you could introduce _that_ into your serenade I have no fear my little girl would refuse you," said Mrs. McVeigh, encouragingly, "at least not more than two or three times."

On leaving Mrs. McVeigh he stumbled against Masterson, who was in the shadow just outside the window within which Monroe was in interested converse with Matthew Loring and some other residents of the county.

He had been deliberately, and, in his own opinion, justifiably, a listener to every sentence advanced by the suspected Northerner, whom he felt was imposing on the hospitality of the South only to betray it.

Earnest as his convictions were he had not yet been able to discern the slightest trace of double intent in any of Monroe's remarks, which were, for the most part, of agricultural affairs, foreign affairs, even the possible future of the Seminoles in the Florida swamp; of everything, in fact, but the very vital question of the day surrounding them, which only tended to confirm his idea that the man was remarkably clever, and he despaired of securing sufficient evidence against him in the brief time at his disposal.

He had just arrived at that conclusion when Delaven, high-hearted with hope, saw only the stars over his head as he paced the veranda, and turning the corner stumbled on Masterson.

There was an exclamation, some words of apology, and involuntarily Masterson stepped backward into the stream of light from the open window, and Monroe, looking around, read the whole situation at a glance. Masterson still suspected him, and was listening! Monroe frankly laughed and made a little sound, the mere whisper of a whistle, as he met Masterson's baffled look with one of cool mockery; it was nonchalant to the verge of insolence, and enraged the Southerner, strong in his convictions of right, as a blow could not have done. For a blow a man could strike back, but this mockery!

Delaven walked on, unconscious of the suppressed feeling between the two. Masterson was handicapped by the fact that he dared not again mention his suspicions to the McVeigh family, and he strode down the steps to the lawn, furious at the restraint put upon him, and conscious, now, that surveillance was useless, since the Northerner had been put upon his guard.

His impatience filled him with rage. He was honest, and he was a fighter, but of what use was that since he had blundered? He had dealt clumsy strokes with both hands, but the other had parried each thrust with a foil. He was worsted--the game was up, but he at least meant to let the interloper know that however clever he might be, there were some people, at least, whom he could not deceive.

That was the humor he was in when he saw Monroe excuse himself to Loring, step through the window, and light a cigar, preparatory to a stroll towards the tryst with Pluto.

Masterson watched him sauntering carelessly down the steps. He had removed the cigar and was whistling very softly, unconsciously, as one who is deep in some quandary, but to Masterson it seemed the acme of studious carelessness to ignore his own presence; it seemed insolent as the mocking glance through the window, and it decided him. His shoulders unconsciously squared as he stepped forward.

"Captain Monroe, I want a word with you," and his tone was a challenge in itself. Monroe turned his head, slowly, finished the bar he was whistling in a slightly louder tone--loud enough to distinguish that it was "Rally 'Round the Flag," whistled very badly. Monroe had evidently little music in his soul, however much patriotism he had in his heart.

"Only one, I hope," he said, carelessly, with an irritating smile.

"You may have to listen to several before you get away from here!"

"From--you?" and there was perceptible doubt in the tone; it added to Masterson's conviction of his own impotence. He dared not fight the man unless Monroe gave the challenge, though it was the one thing he wanted to do with all his heart.

"From those in authority over this section," he said, sternly.

"Ah!--that is a different matter."

"You may find it a very serious matter, Captain Monroe."

"Oh, no; I shan't find it, I'm not looking for it," and Monroe softly resumed, _"The Union Forever."_

"If you take my advice," began Masterson, angrily, "you'll"--but Monroe shook his head.

"I shan't, so don't mention it," he said, blandly. Masterson's wordy anger showed him that he was master of the situation, so he only smiled as he added, "advice, you know, is something everybody gives and n.o.body takes," and Monroe resumed his whistle.

"You think yourself cursedly clever," and it was an effort for Masterson to keep from striking the cool, insolent face. "You thought so today when Madame Caron was suspected instead of yourself."

"Madame Caron!" Monroe ceased the whistle and looked at him with a momentary frown, which Masterson welcomed as a sign of anger.

"Ah, that touches you, does it?"

"Only with wonder that you dare speak of her after your failure to make her the victim of your spies today," and Monroe's tone was again only contemptuous. "First you arrest me, then accuse Madame Caron.

Evidently you are out of your sphere in detective work; it really requires considerable cleverness, you know. Yet, if it amuses you--well"--he made a little gesture of indifference and turned away, but Masterson stepped before him.

"You will learn there is enough cleverness here to comprehend why you came to this plantation a willing prisoner," he said, threateningly.

Monroe resumed his _"Rally Once Again,"_ and raised his brows inquiringly, "and also why you ignored a former acquaintance with Madame Caron and had to be introduced. Before you are through with this business, Captain Monroe, you'll whistle a different tune."

"Oh, no, I shan't; I don't know any other," said Monroe, amiably, and sauntered away as some of the guests, with gay good nights, came down the steps. The evening, delightful as it had been, fraught with emotion as it had been, was pa.s.sing. The late hour reminded Monroe that he must no longer delay seeing Pluto if he was to see him at all.

They had exchanged glances several times, but the black man's duties had kept him occupied every minute, and they had found no opportunity to speak un.o.bserved.

Judithe stood beside Mrs. McVeigh on the veranda exchanging good nights with some of the people, who expected to be her neighbors in the near future, and who were delighted with the prospect. She had been a decided success with the warm-hearted Southerners, and had entered the rooms a short time after her interview with her host, so gay, so bright, that he could scarcely believe those brilliant eyes were the ones he had seen tear-wet in the dusk. She had not avoided him, but she had made a tete-a-tete impossible; for all that he could only remember the moment when she had leaned upon his breast and confessed that the love was not all on his side; no after attempt at indifference could erase an iota of that!

Monroe stopped to look at her, himself unseen, and as she stood there smiling, gracious, the very star of the evening, he thought he had never before seen her so absolutely sparkling. He had always known her beautiful; tonight she was regal beyond comparison. Always in the years to follow he thought of her as she stood there that night, radiant, dominant, at the very pinnacle of success in all things. He never again saw her like that.

As he pa.s.sed on he relit the cigar, forgotten during his meeting with Masterson, and Pluto, who had been on nettles of anxiety to get away from his duties all the evening, seized the opportunity when no one was looking, and followed closely the light of the cigar as it moved along the hedge past the dining room windows.

He carried the treasured bag holding the dead Rosa's belongings.

"Couldn't get away a mite sooner, not to save me, Mahsa Captain," he said, breathlessly; "had to run now to get 'way from them n.i.g.g.ahs in the kitchen, who wanted to know what I was toten. I had this here hid in the pantry whah I had no chance to look through it, so if you'll s'cuse me I jest gwine dump em out right heah; the picture case, it's plum down in the bottom; I felt it."

Monroe smoked in silence while the darky was making the search. He no longer needed the picture in order to convince Madame Caron of the truth of Pluto's story, yet concluded it best that she have possession of so compromising a portrait until her clever maid was out of the country.

He could hear Colonel McVeigh asking for Pluto, and Caroline offering information that "Pluto jest gone out through the pantry."

"You'd better hurry, my man," suggested Monroe, "they'll be looking for you."

"They will that--folks all gwine home, an' need a sight o' waiten' on; thah's the likeness, Mahs Captain;" he handed him a small oval frame, commenced crowding the other articles hurriedly back into the bag; "fo' G.o.d's sake, be careful o' that; I don' want it to fetch harm to that gal, but I don' allow neither fo' Madame Caron to be made trouble if I can help it."

"You're a faithful fellow; there's a coin in exchange for the picture; you'd better go. I'll see you in the morning."

Pluto was profuse in his thanks, while Monroe hunted for a match with which to view the picture.

He struck a light and opened the little closed frame as Pluto started for the side door. An instant later he snapped it shut again, and as the darky reached the steps Monroe's hand was on his shoulder:

"Wait a bit," he said, briefly. "You say that is the picture of Rhoda's mother? Now tell me again what her name is."

"Who?--Margeret? Why, her name Margeret Loring, I reckon, but Nelse did say her right name was 'Caris--Lacaris. Retta Lacaris what she called when she jest a young gal an' Mahs Tom Loring fust bought her."

Monroe repeated the name in order to impress it on his memory. He took a pencil and note book out of his pocket.

Pluto half offered his hand for the little oval frame, for there was enough light where they stood to see it by, but Monroe slipped it with the note book into an inner pocket. "The Colonel will want you; you had better go," he said, turning away, and walking directly from the house he crossed the lawn out of sight and hearing of the departing guests. All the gay chatter jarred on him, oppressed as he was with the certainty of some unknown calamity overhanging those laughing people on the veranda. What it was he did not know, but he would leave in the morning.

He had been gone an hour. He was missed, but no one except Masterson took any special notice of it, and he was wary about asking questions, remembering Colonel McVeigh's att.i.tude in the morning over the disputed question. But as he was enjoying a final cigar with Judge Clarkson on the lawn--the Judge was the very last to leave and was waiting for his horse--all his suspicions were revived with added strength as McVeigh strode hurriedly across the veranda towards them.

"Phil, I was looking for you," and his tone betrayed unusual anxiety reflected in his face as he glanced around to see if there were possible listeners. But the rooms on the first floor were deserted--all dark but for a solitary light in the hall. In the upper rooms little gleams stole out from the sleeping rooms where the ladies had retired for the night.

"Anything wrong, Colonel?" asked Masterson, speaking in a suppressed tone and meeting him at the foot of the steps.

"Who is that with you, the Judge?" asked McVeigh first. "Good! I'm glad you are here. Something astounding has occurred, gentlemen. The papers, the instructions you brought today, together with some other doc.u.ments of importance, have been stolen from my room tonight!"

"Ah-h!" Masterson's voice was scarcely above a whisper. All his suspicions blazed again. Now he understood Monroe's presence there.

"But, my dear boy," gasped the Judge, thunderstruck at the news, "your commission stolen? Why, how--"