“Is she drunk or mad?” asked Rawbon.

“Mad,” answered Philip, “but cunning enough to do mischief, if she has a mind to.  Moll, dear, come sit down here and be quiet; come, now.”

“Mad? mad?” murmured Moll, catching his word.  “No, I’m not mad,” she continued wildly, passing her hands over her brows, “but I saw spirits just now in the woods, and heard voices, and they’ve frightened me.  The ghost of the girl that died in the hospital was there.  You knew little blue-eyed Lizzie, Philip.  She was cursing me when she died and calling for her mother.  But I don’t care.  The man paid me well for getting her, and ’twasn’t my fault if she got sick and died.  Poor thing! poor thing! poor little blue-eyed Lizzie!  She was innocent enough when she first came, but she got to be as bad as any—­until she got sick and died.  Poor little Lizzie!” And thus murmuring incoherently, the unhappy woman sat down upon the floor, and bent her head upon her knees.

“Clap that into her mouth,” whispered Philip, handing Rawbon his handkerchief rolled tightly into a ball.  “Quietly now, but quick.  Look out now.  She’s strong as a trooper.”

They approached her without noise, but suddenly, and while Philip grasped her wrists, Rawbon threw back her head, and forcing the jaws open by a violent pressure of his knuckles against the joint, thrust the handkerchief between her teeth and bound it tightly there with two turns of his sash.  The shriek was checked upon her lips and changed into a painful, gurgling groan.  The poor creature, with convulsive efforts, struggled to free her arms from Philip’s grasp, but he managed to keep his hold until Rawbon had secured her wrists with the stout cord that suspended his canteen.  A silk neckerchief was then tightly bound around her ankles, and Moll, with heaving breast and glaring eyes, lay, moaning piteously, but speechless and motionless, upon the floor.

“We can leave her there,” said Rawbon.  “It’s not likely any of your men will come in, until morning at least.  Let’s be off at once.”

Philip snatched up the parchment where it had fallen, and silently followed his companion.

“We are going beyond the line to look about a bit,” he said to the sergeant on duty, as they passed his post.  “Keep all still and quiet till we return.”

“Take some of the boys with you, captain,” replied the sergeant.  “We’re unpleasant close to those devils, sir.”

“It’s all right, sergeant.  There’s no danger,” And nodding to Seth, the two walked leisurely along the road until concealed by the darkness, when they quickened their pace and pushed boldly toward the Confederate lines.

Half an hour, or less perhaps, after their departure, the sentry, posted at about a hundred yards from the house, observed an unusual light gleaming from the windows of the old farm-house.  He called the attention of Lieutenant Williams, who was walking by in conversation with the sergeant, to the circumstance.