There
was really little evidence to connect Miss Faulkner with the actual
outrage,--rather might not the real spy have taken advantage of her
visit here, to throw suspicion upon her? He remembered her singular
manner,--the strange inconsistency with which she had forced this flower
upon him. She would hardly have done so had she been conscious of its
having so serious an import. Yet, what was the secret of her manifest
agitation? A sudden inspiration flashed across his mind; a smile came
upon his lips. She was in love! The enemy's line contained some sighing
Strephon of a young subaltern with whom she was in communication, and
for whom she had undertaken this quest. The flower was their language of
correspondence, no doubt. It explained also the young girl's animosity
against the younger officers,--his adversaries; against himself,--their
commander. He had previously wondered why, if she were indeed a spy, she
had not chosen, upon some equally specious order from Washington,
the headquarters of the division commander, whose secrets were more
valuable. This was explained by the fact that she was nearer the lines
and her lover in her present abode. He had no idea that he was making
excuses for her,--he believed himself only just.
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