"
Brant's unlucky slip was still potent enough to divert the official
attention, or he would have noticed the change in his visitor's face,
and the abruptness of his departure.
Once in the street, Brant tore off the envelope. But beneath it was
another, on which was written in a delicate, refined hand: "Please do
not open this until you reach your destination."
Then she knew he was going! And perhaps this was her influence? All his
suspicions again returned. She knew he was going near the lines, and his
very appointment, through her power, might be a plot to serve her and
the enemy! Was this letter, which she was entrusting to him, the cover
of some missive to her Southern friends which she expected him to
carry--perhaps as a return for her own act of self-sacrifice? Was this
the appeal she had been making to his chivalry, his gratitude, his
honor? The perspiration stood in beads on his forehead. What defect lay
hidden in his nature that seemed to make him an easy victim of these
intriguing women? He had not even the excuse of gallantry; less
susceptible to the potencies of the sex than most men, he was still
compelled to bear that reputation. He remembered his coldness to Miss
Faulkner in the first days of their meeting, and her effect upon his
subalterns.
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