The details of this battle belong to history, not to these pages. The Ninth bore no conspicuous part, hovering on the extreme right flank, engaged in continuous skirmishing, and scouting along miles of front. The morning of the third day found the armies fronting each other, defiant yet equally afraid to join battle, both commanders seeking for some point of strategy which would yield advantage—we of the North fearful of advancing against intrenchments, and those of the South not daring to come forth into the open. For the moment it was a truce between us—the truce of two exhausted bull-dogs, lying face to face with gleaming teeth, ready to spring at the first opening.

We of the Ninth were at the edge of an opening in the woods, with low hills on either hand, our pickets within easy musket-shot of the gray-clad videttes beyond the fringe of trees. Knowing our own success we could not comprehend this inaction, or the desperate fighting which held back the troops to the east, and we were impatient to go in. I was lying on my back in the shelter of a slight hollow, wondering at the surrounding stillness, wishing for anything to occur which would give action, when the major rode up, accompanied by another officer in an artillery uniform. I was on my feet in an instant saluting.

"Lieutenant Galesworth, this is Captain Kent, an aide on General Sheridan's staff. He desires you to accompany him to headquarters."

My heart bounding with anticipation, within five minutes I was riding beside him, back to the river road, and along the rear of our extended line. He was a pleasant, genial fellow, but knew nothing of why I had been summoned, his orders being simply to bring me at once. Two hours of hard riding, and we came to a double log cabin, with a squad of horsemen in front, and a considerable infantry guard near by. A sentry paced back and forth in front of the steps, and several officers were sitting on the porch. Dismounting, my companion handed the reins of both horses to a trooper, and led the way in. A word to the sentinel, and we faced the group above. One, a sharp-featured man, with very dark complexion, rose to his feet.

"What is it, Kent?"

"This is Lieutenant Galesworth, of the Ninth Illinois Cavalry. The general will wish to see him at once."

The dark-featured man glanced at me, and turned back into the house, and Kent introduced me to the others, none of whom I recognized. This was not Sheridan's staff, but before I could question any of them, the messenger returned, and motioned for me to follow. It was a large room, low-ceilinged, with three windows, the walls of bare logs whitewashed, the floor freshly swept, the only furniture a table and a few chairs. But two men were present, although a sentinel stood motionless at the door,—a broad-shouldered colonel of engineers, with gray moustache and wearing glasses, sitting at a table littered with papers, and a short stocky man, attired in a simple blue blouse, with no insignia of rank visible, his back toward me, gazing out of a window. I took a single step within, and halted. The short man wheeled about at the slight sound, his eyes on my face; I recognized instantly the closely trimmed beard, the inevitable cigar between the lips, and, with a leap of the heart, my hand rose to the salute.

"Lieutenant Galesworth?"

"Yes, General."

"Very well; you may retire, Colonel Trout, and, sentry, close the door."

His keen gray eyes scrutinized my face, betraying no emotion, but he advanced closer, one hand upon the table.

"General Sheridan informs me he has found you a valuable scout, always ready for any service, however dangerous."

"I have endeavored to carry out my orders, General," I answered quietly.

"So I am told," in the same even voice. "The army is full of good men, brave men, but not all possess sufficient intelligence and willingness to carry out an independent enterprise. Just now I require such a man, and Sheridan recommends you. How old are you?"

I answered, and barely waiting the sound of my voice, he went on:

"You have scouted over this country?"

"I have, sir."

"How far to the south?"

"About five miles beyond the Three Corners."

"Not far enough, is it, Parker?" turning to the officer at the table.

"The house is below," was the response, "but perhaps I had better explain the entire matter to Lieutenant Galesworth, and let him decide for himself whether he cares to make the attempt."

The general nodded approval, and walked back to the window, his hands clasped behind his back. Parker spread out a map.

"Just step over here, Lieutenant. This is our present position, represented by the irregular blue line; those red squares show the enemy's forces as far as we understand them. The crosses represent batteries, and the important intrenchments are shown by the double lines. Of course this is imperfect, largely drawn from the reports of scouts. Their line is slightly shorter than our own, our right overlapping, but they have a stronger reserve force protecting the centre. Now notice the situation here," and he traced it with his pencil. "Your regiment is practically to the rear of their main line of defence, but the nature of the ground renders them safe. There is a, deep ravine here, trending to the southeast, and easily defended. Now note, ten miles, almost directly south of Three Corners, on the open pike, the first building on the right-hand side beyond a log church, stands an old plantation house. It is a large building, painted white, in the midst of a grove of trees, and in the rear is a commodious stable and a dozen negro cabins. The map shows this house to be somewhat to the right of the Confederate centre, and about five miles to the rear of their first line."

I bent over, intent on the map, endeavoring to fix each point clearly in my mind. Parker paused in his speech, and the general turned about, his eyes fastened upon us.

"I understand," I said finally.

"Very well. Deserters informed us last night that Johnston had taken this house for his headquarters. This morning one of our most reliable scouts confirms the report, and says the place can be easily approached by a small party using the ravine for concealment, coming in past the negro cabins at the rear."

My eyes brightened, as I straightened up, instantly comprehending the plan.

"What guard have they?"

"A few sentinels at the house, and a squad of cavalry in the stable. Naturally they feel perfectly safe so far to the rear of their own lines. It is the very audacity of such an attempt which makes success possible."

The general stepped forward.

"Don't take this as an order, Lieutenant," he said bluntly. "It will mean a desperate risk, and if you go, you must comprehend thoroughly the peril involved. You were recommended as the best man to lead such a party, but we supposed you already knew that country."

"I can place my hand on a man who does know every inch of it," I replied, my mind clear, and my decision reached. "I thank you for the privilege."

"Good; when?"

"To-night, of course; there is ample time to prepare."

"How many men will you require?"

I hesitated, but for barely an instant.

"Not to exceed ten, General—a small party will accomplish as much as a larger one, and be less liable to attract attention. All I need will volunteer from my own company."

Apparently his own thought coincided with mine, for he merely looked at me a moment with those searching gray eyes, and then turned to the map, beckoning me to join him.

"Familiarize yourself with every detail of the topography of the region," he said, his finger on the paper. "Colonel Parker will explain anything you may need to know." He straightened up, and extended his hand, the cigar still crushed between his teeth. "I believe you are the right stuff, Lieutenant; young enough to be reckless, old enough to know the value of patience. Are you married?"

I shook my head, with a smile, yet conscious my cheeks were flushed.

"Then I am going to say to you—go, and do the best you can. Parker will give you any other instructions you desire. Good-bye, my lad, and good luck."

He turned and left the room, my eyes following him until the door closed.



CHAPTER XVII

BEGINNING THE NIGHT ADVENTURE

The colonel of engineers did not delay me long, and, eager to be away, I made my necessary questions as brief as possible. Riding back through the encampment of troops, hampered more or less by the irregularity of the different commands, I had ample time in which to outline the night's adventure. I comprehended fully the danger of the mission, and that the probability was strongly against success. Reckless audacity, coupled with rare good fortune, might result in our return with the prisoner sought, but it was far more likely that we would be the ones captured, if we escaped with our lives. Yet this knowledge caused no hesitancy on my part; I was trained to obedience, and deep down in my heart welcomed the opportunity. The excitement appealed to me, and the knowledge that this service was to be performed directly under the eye of the great General of the West, was in itself an inspiration. If I lived to come back it meant promotion, the praise of the army, a line on the page of history—enough surely to arouse the ambition of youth.

It was early in the afternoon when I reached the position of my regiment, and reported to the colonel, asking the privilege of selecting a detail. Then, as I sat at mess, I studied my men, mentally picking from among them those best adapted to the desperate task. I chose those I had seen in action, young, unmarried fellows, and for "non-com," Sergeant Miles, a slender, silent man of thirty, in whom I had implicit confidence. I checked the names over, satisfying myself I had made no mistake. Leaving Miles to notify these fellows, and prepare them for service, I crossed to the colonel's tent in search of the ex-slave. He was easily found.

"Le Gaire," I began, choking a bit at the name, "do you remember a big white house, on the right of the pike, the first beyond a log church, south from the Three Corners?"

He looked up from his work with sparkling eyes.

"I suah does; I reckon I could find dat place in de dark."

"Well, that is exactly what I want you to do, my man. I have some work to do there to-night."

"How yo' goin' to git dar?"

I explained about the ravine, the positions of the Confederate lines, and where I understood the special guards were stationed. The boy listened in silence, his fingers, clinching and unclinching, alone evidencing excitement.

"Will that plan work?" I asked, "or can you suggest any better way?"

"I reckon it'll work," he admitted, "if yo' don't git cotched afore yo' git dar. I knows a heap 'bout dat ravine; I'se hunted rabbits dar many a time, an' it ain't goin' to be no easy job gittin' through dar in de dark."

"Will you show us the way?"

"Well, I don't just know," scratching his head thoughtfully. "Maybe de col'nel wouldn't let me."

"I can arrange that."

"Den I don't want fo' to go to dat house; dat's whar I run away from."

"But I thought you belonged to the Le Gaires of Louisiana?"

"Dat's what I did, sah; but I done tol' yo' I come up yere wid de army. I was left dere till de captain come back; dose folks was friends o' his."

"Oh, I see; well, will you go along as far as the end of the ravine?"

He looked out over the hills, and then back into my face, his eyes narrowing, his lips setting firm over the white teeth. I little realized what was taking place in the fellow's brain, what real motive influenced his decision, or the issues involved.

"I reckon I will, sah, providin' de col'nel says so." There was, of course, no difficulty in obtaining the consent of that officer, and by nine o'clock we were ready to depart, ten picked men, young, vigorous lads, though veterans in service, led by Miles, together with the negro Le Gaire and myself. Taking a lesson from the guerillas we were armed only with revolvers, intending to fight, if fight we must, at close quarters; and the brass buttons, and all insignia of rank liable to attract attention had been removed from our blouses. Upon our heads we wore slouch hats. I had decided to make the attempt on foot, as we could thus advance in greater silence. Without attracting attention, or starting any camp rumor, we passed, two by two, out beyond the pickets, and made rendezvous on the bank of the river. It was a dark night. As soon as the sergeant reported all were present, I led the way up stream for perhaps a mile until we came to the mouth of the ravine. Here I called them around me, barely able to distinguish the dim figures, although within arm's length, explained my plans and gave strict orders. As I ceased speaking I could plainly hear their suppressed breathing, so deathly still was the night.

"If any man has a question, ask it now."

No one spoke, although several moved uneasily, too nervous to remain still.

"Le Gaire, here, will go first, as he knows the way, and I will follow him; the rest drop in in single file, with the sergeant at the rear. Keep close enough to distinguish the man in front, and be careful where you put your feet. No noise, not a word spoken unless I pass back an order; then give it to the next man in a whisper. Don't fire under any conditions except by command." I paused, then added slowly: "You are all intelligent enough to know the danger of our expedition, and the necessity of striking quick and hard. Our success, our very lives, depend on surprise. If each one of you does exactly as I order, we've got a chance to come back; if not, then it means a bullet, or a prison, for all of us. Are you ready?"

I heard the low responses, and counted them—ten, the negro not answering.

"All right, men," then, my voice hardening into a threat: "Now go ahead, Le Gaire, and remember I am next behind, and carry a revolver in my hand. Make a wrong move, lad, and you'll never make another."

I could faintly discern the whites of his eyes, and heard one of the men snicker nervously.

"Lead off! Fall in promptly, men."

It was a rocky cleft through the hills, perhaps a hundred yards wide here where it opened on the river, with a little stream in its centre fringed with low trees, but narrowing gradually, and becoming blocked with underbrush as it penetrated deeper into the interior. For a mile or more the course was not entirely unknown to me, although the darkness obscured all familiar landmarks. The negro, however, apparently possessed the instinct of an animal, or else had night eyes, for he never hesitated, keeping close along the edge of the stream. The tree-branches brushed our faces, but our feet pressed a well defined path. Farther in, the shadows becoming more dense, this path wound about crazily, seeking the level spots; yet Le Gaire moved steadily forward, his head lowered, and I kept him within reach of my arm, barely able to distinguish the cautious tread of feet behind. Clearly enough he knew the way, and could follow it with all the certainty of a dog. Relieved as to this, and confident the fellow dare not play us false, I could take notice of other things, and permit my thoughts to wander. There was little to be seen or heard; except for the musical tinkle of the stream, all to the right was silence, but from the other side there arose an occasional sound, borne faintly from a distance—a voice calling, the blare of a far-off bugle, the echo of a hammer pounding on iron. Once through the obscuring branches the fitful yellow of a camp-fire was dimly visible, but the ravine twisted so that I could not determine whether this was from Federal or Confederate lines. Anyhow no eye saw us creep past, and no suspicious voice challenged. Indeed we had every reason to believe the ravine unguarded, although pickets were undoubtedly patrolling the east bank, and there were places we must go close in under its shadow.

So intent had I been upon this adventure, my mind concentrated on details, that the personal equation had been entirely forgotten. But now I began to reflect along that line, yet never for a moment forgetting our situation, or its peril. I was going down into the neighborhood where Willifred Hardy lived—to which she had probably already returned. I was going as an enemy to her cause, guided by an ex-slave of Le Gaire's. It was rather an odd turn of Fate's wheel, and, while there was no probability of our meeting, yet the conditions were suggestive. My eyes were upon the dim form in advance, and I was strongly tempted to ask if he knew where Major Hardy's plantation was. Beyond doubt he did, but this was no time for dalliance with love, and I drove the temptation sternly from me, endeavoring to concentrate my mind on present duty. But in spite of all Billie would intervene, her blue-gray eyes challenging me to forget, and the remembrance of her making my step light. I was going to be near her again, at least, if only for an hour; perhaps, whether I succeeded or failed, she would hear my name mentioned. Even that would be better than forgetfulness, and she was one to appreciate a deed like this. I should like to see her eyes when they told her—when they spoke my name. I wondered where Captain Le Gaire was, and whether he had been her escort back through the Confederate lines. Most probably yes, and perhaps he had remained at the Hardy house, still incapacitated from duty by the blow I had struck him—an interesting invalid. Even this thought did not trouble me as it might have done otherwise, for I believed Billie had already begun to see the real man behind the fellow's handsome face; if so, then time and companionship would only widen the breach between them—perhaps my memory also.

It was a hard three hours' travel, practically feeling a passage through the darkness, for the narrow path extended but little beyond a mile, after losing which we stumbled forward through a maze of rock and underbrush. This finally became so dense that the negro veered to the left, where there was a grassy ledge, along which we made more rapid progress, although facing greater danger of discovery. However, the night was black, and to any picket looking down from above the ravine must have appeared a dark, impenetrable void, while our feet in the grass scarcely made a sound. Once we saw a moving figure above us, barely visible against the sky-line, and halted breathlessly, every eye uplifted, until the apparition vanished; and once, warned by the cracking of a twig, we lay flat on our faces while a spectral company went past us on foot, heading at right-angles across our path. I counted twenty men in the party, but could distinguish nothing as to uniform or equipment. We waited motionless until the last straggler had disappeared. By this time we were well behind the Confederate lines, with troops probably on either side, for this gash in the surface had both narrowed and veered sharply to the east. It still remained sufficiently deep to conceal our movements, and, as we had circled the picket lines, we could proceed with greater confidence. We were beyond the vigilance of sentinels, and could be discovered now only through some accidental encounter. I touched Le Gaire on the shoulder, and whispered in his ear:

"How much farther is it?"

"'Bout half a mile, sah," staring about into what to me was impenetrable darkness. "Yo' see de forked tree dar on de lef'?"

I was not sure, yet there was something in that direction which might be what he described.

"I guess so—why?"

"I 'members dat tree, for dar's a spring just at de foot ob it."

"Is the rest of the way hard?"

"No, sah, not wid me goin' ahead of yo', for dar's a medium good path from de spring up to de top o' de hill. I'se pow'ful feared though we might run across some ob dem Confed sojers 'round yere."

I tried to look at him, but could see only the whites of his eyes, but his voice somehow belied his words—to my mind there was no fear in the fellow. I passed back word along the line, and found all the men present. Not a sound came out of the night, and I ordered the ex-slave to lead on.



CHAPTER XVIII

OVERHEARD CONVERSATION

It was a little gully, hardly more than a tramped footpath, leading down the bank up which we crept until we attained the level. With eyes sharpened by the long night vigil we could perceive the dim outlines of buildings, and a glow or two of distant lights. I felt of the face of my watch, deciding the time to be not far from half-past twelve. Our tramp had seemed longer than a trifle over three hours, and it was a relief to know we still had so much of darkness left in which to operate. I touched the man lying next me, unable to tell one dark form from another.

"Who are you?"

"Wilson, sir."

"Where is the guide?"

"Right yere, sah," and the speaker wriggled toward me on his face. "Dis yere is de place."

"I supposed so, but it is all a mere blur out there to me. What are these buildings just ahead of us?"

"De slave quarters, sah; dey's all deserted, 'cept maybe dat first one yonder," pointing. "I reckon Aunt Mandy an' her ol' man are dar yet, but de field hands dey all done cleared out long time ago. De stable was ober dar toward de right, whar dat lantern was dodgin' 'round. Yo' creep 'long yere, an' I'll point out de house—see, it's back o' de bunch o' trees, whar de yaller light shows in de winder. I reckon dar's some of 'em up yet."

From his description I received a fair impression of the surroundings, questioning briefly as I stared out at the inanimate objects faintly revealed, and endeavoring to plan some feasible course of action. The stable was a hundred yards to the rear of the house, a fenced-off garden between, the driveway circling to the right. Between the slave quarters and the mansion extended an orchard, the trees of good size and affording ample cover. We were to the left of the house, and the light seen evidently streamed through one of the windows of the front room. Where the guard was stationed no one of us could guess, yet this had to be determined first of all. I called for Miles, and the sergeant, still holding his position at the rear, crept forward.

"I am going in closer to discover what I can," I said quietly. "I may be gone for half an hour. Advance your men carefully into the shadow of that cabin there, and wait orders. Don't let them straggle, for I want to know where they are." I bent lower and whispered in his ear, "Don't let that negro out of your sight; but no shooting—rap him with a butt if necessary. You understand?"

"Sure; I'll keep a grip on his leg."

I paused an instant thinking.

"If luck helps me to get inside, and I find the way clear, I'll draw that shade up and down twice—this way—and you can come on. Move quickly, but without noise, and wait outside for orders, unless you are certain I am in trouble."

"Yes, sir; we'll be there."

"Have one man watch that light all the time; don't let him take his eyes off it. Be careful no prowling trooper stumbles on you; keep the men still."

I saw the dim movement as he saluted and felt no doubt of obedience,—he was too old and tried a soldier to fail. I crept forward, scouted about the cabin to make sure it was unoccupied, and then advanced into the shadows of the orchard. I was all nerves now, all alertness, every instinct awake, seeing the slightest movement, hearing the faintest noise. There were voices—just a mumble—in the direction of the stable, and, as I drew in closer toward the house I could distinguish sounds as though a considerable party were at table—yet even the tinkle of knife and plate was muffled; probably the dining-room was on the opposite side. However, this would seem to indicate the presence of the one we sought, although so late a supper would render our task more difficult of execution. I was tempted to try the other side first, but the open window with the light burning inside was nearer, and I wished first to assure myself as to that. I could see no sentries, but the embers of a fire were visible on the front driveway. Whatever guard might be about the steps, none patrolled this side; I must have waited several minutes, lying concealed in the dense shrubbery, peering and listening, before becoming fully convinced. The omission brought a vague suspicion that Johnston might not be present after all—that this was instead a mere party of convivial officers. If so, the sooner I could convince myself the better, to make good our safe return. The thought urged me forward.

A small clump of low bushes—gooseberries, I judged from the thorns—was within a few yards of the house, the balance of the distance a closely trimmed turf. The bottom of the window through which the light shone was even with my eyes when standing erect, but I could perceive no movement of any occupants, a small wooden balcony, more for ornament than for practical use, shutting off the view. I grasped the rail of this with my hands and drew my body slowly up, endeavoring to keep to one side out of the direct range of light. This effort yielded but a glimpse of one corner of the seemingly deserted interior, and I crouched down within the rail, cautiously seeking to discover more. Fortunately the wooden support did not creak under my weight. The apartment was apparently parlor and sitting-room combined, some of the furniture massive and handsome, especially the centre-table and a sofa of black walnut, but there was also a light sewing-table and a cane-seated rocker, more suggestive of comfort. At first glance I thought the place empty, although I could plainly hear the murmuring sound of voices from beyond; then I perceived some one—a woman—seated on a low stool before the open fire-place. She sat with back toward me, her head bent upon one hand. I was still studying the figure in uncertainty when a door, evidently leading into the hall, opened and a man entered. He was in Confederate field uniform, the insignia on his collar that of a major,—a tall, broad-shouldered man, with abundant hair and an aggressive expression. The woman glanced up, but he closed the door, shutting out a jangle of voices, before speaking.

"What was it? You sent for me?"

She rose to her feet, and came a step forward,—my heart leapt into my throat, my fingers gripped the rail.

"Yes," she said quietly, looking into his face, "I have decided I cannot do it."

"Decided! What now?" and his surprise was beyond question. "Why, what does all this mean? No one has sought to coerce or drive you; this was your own choice. Surely you have had ample time in which to consider!"

"Oh, yes," wearily, her hand pressing back her hair, "but—but I really never understood myself until to-night; I am not sure I do even now."

"A girlish whim," he broke in impatiently. "Why, daughter, this is foolish, impossible; all arrangements are made, and even now they are toasting the captain in the dining-room. Under no other conditions could he have got leave of absence, for his injuries are trivial. Johnston told me as much before he left, and I know we shall need every man to-morrow if we force the fighting."

"Why does he accept leave then, if he is needed here?" she asked quickly.

"For your sake and mine, not fear of battle, I am sure. There will be no heavy action at this end of our line, as we shall fall back to protect the centre. But the movement as contemplated will leave all this ground to be occupied by the Yankees; they'll be here by to-morrow night beyond doubt; even now we retain only a skeleton force west of the pike. I cannot leave you here alone, unprotected."

"Is that why you have pressed me so to assent to this hurried arrangement?"

"Yes, Billie," and he took her hands tenderly. "Captain Le Gaire suggested it as soon as we learned this region was to be left unguarded, and when he succeeded in getting leave to go south it seemed to me the very best thing possible for you. Why, daughter, I do not understand your action—by having the ceremony to-night we merely advance it a few months."

"But—father," her voice trembling, "I—I am not so sure that I wish to marry Captain Le Gaire at—at all."

"Not marry him! Why, I supposed that was settled—you seemed very happy—"

"Yes, once," she broke in. "I thought I loved him—perhaps I did—but he has not appeared the same man to me of late. I cannot explain; I cannot even tell what it is I mean, but I am afraid to go on. I want more time to decide, to learn my own heart."

"You poor little girl, you are nervous, excited."

"No, it is not that, papa. I simply doubt myself, my future happiness with this man. Surely you will not urge me to marry one I do not love?"

"No, girlie; but this decision comes so suddenly. I had believed you very happy together, and even to-night, when this plan was first broached, there was no word of protest uttered. I thought you were glad."

"Not glad! I was stunned, too completely surprised to object. You all took my willingness so for granted that I could find no words to express my real feelings. Indeed I do not believe I knew what they were—not until I sat here alone thinking, and then there came to me a perfect horror of it all. I tried to fight my doubts, tried to convince myself that it was right to proceed, but only to find it impossible. I loathe the very thought; if I consent I know I shall regret the act as long as I live." "But, Billie," he urged earnestly, "what can have occurred to make this sudden change in you? Captain Le Gaire belongs to one of the most distinguished families of the South; is wealthy, educated, a polished gentleman. He will give you everything to make life attractive. Surely this is but a mere whim!"

"Have you found me to be a nervous girl, full of whims?"

"No, certainly not, but—"

"And this is no whim, no mood. I cannot tell, cannot explain all that has of late caused me to distrust Captain Le Gaire, only I do not feel toward him as I once did. I never can again, and if you insist on this marriage, it will mean to me unhappiness—I am, sure of that."

"But what can we do at this late hour! Everything is prepared, arranged for; even the minister has arrived, and is waiting."

She stood before him, her hands clasped, trembling from head to foot, yet with eyes determined.

"Will you delay action a few moments, and send Captain Le Gaire to me? I—I must see him alone."

He hesitated, avoiding her eyes and permitting his glance to wander about the room.

"Please do this for me."

"But in your present mood—"

"I am perfectly sane," and she stood straight before him, insistent, resolute. "Indeed I think I know myself better than for months past. I shall say nothing wrong to Captain Le Gaire, and if he is a gentleman he will honor me more for my frankness. Either you will send him here to me, or else I shall go to him."

The major bowed with all the ceremony of the old school, convinced of the utter futility of further argument.

"You will have you own way; you always have," regretfully. "I shall request the captain to join you here."



CHAPTER XIX

LE GAIRE FORCES A DECISION

He left the room reluctantly enough, pausing at the door to glance back, but she had sunk down into the rocker, and made no relenting sign. Every sense of right compelled me to withdraw; I could not remain, a hidden spy, to listen to her conversation with Le Gaire. My heart leaped with exultation, with sudden faith that possibly her memory of me might lie back of this sudden distrust, this determination for freedom. Yet this possibility alone rendered impossible my lingering here to overhear what should pass between them in confidence. Interested as I was personally I possessed no excuse to remain; every claim of duty was elsewhere. I had already learned General Johnston was not present, and that an attack was projected against our left and centre. This was news of sufficient importance to be reported at headquarters without delay. To be sure the withdrawal of troops from this end of the Confederate line made our own return trip less dangerous, still, even if I ventured to remain longer, I must early despatch a courier with the news.

I drew silently back from the window, flinging one limb over the balcony rail, preparing to drop to the ground below. Her back was toward me, and she heard nothing; then a man came round the end of the house, walking slowly and smoking. I could see the red glow of his cigar, and inhale the fragrance of the tobacco. I hung on desperately, bending my body along the rail, and he passed directly beneath, yet so shadowed I could merely distinguish his outline. The fellow—an officer, no doubt, seeking a breath of fresh air—strolled to the opposite corner, and then turned off into the orchard. I dared not risk an attempt to drop and run, for I knew not what might await me in the darkness. Yet where I clung I was exposed to discovery, and, when he turned his back, I sank down once more within the shelter of the balcony. He stopped under the trees, apparently having found a seat of some kind, although I could see nothing except the tip of the burning cigar, as he flipped aside the ashes. I had almost forgotten what might be occurring within, until aroused by the sound of Le Gaire's voice.

He certainly looked a handsome fellow, standing there with hand still on the knob of the door, dressed in a new uniform tailored to perfection, his lips and eyes smiling pleasantly, never suspecting the reason for which he was summoned.

"What is it, Billie?" he asked easily. "A last word, hey?"

"Yes," she answered, lifting her eyes to his face, but not advancing. "I—I have been thinking it all over while waiting here alone, and—and I find I am not quite ready. I sent for you to ask release from my promise, or, at least, that you will not insist upon our—our marriage to-night."

The man's dark face actually grew white, his surprise at this request leaving him gasping for breath, as he stared at her.

"Why, good God, girl, do you realize what you are saying?" he exclaimed, all self-control gone. "Why, we are ready now; Bradshaw just arrived and every arrangement has been made for our journey. It cannot be postponed."

"Oh, yes, indeed, it can," and she rose, facing him. "Surely you would not force me against my will, Captain Le Gaire? I do not desire to rebel, to absolutely refuse, but I hope you will listen to me, and then act the part of a gentleman. I presume you desire me for your wife, not your slave."

I thought he had lost his voice he was so long in answering; then the tones were hoarse, indistinct.

"Listen! Yes! I want you to explain; only don't expect too much from me."

She looked directly at him, her cheeks flushing to the insolence of his accent.

"I am hardly likely to err in that way any more," rather coldly, "but I do owe you an explanation. I have done wrong to permit this affair to go so far without protest, but I did not comprehend my own feelings clearly until to-night. I merely drifted without realizing the danger, and now the shock of discovery leaves me almost helpless. I realize distinctly only one thing—I can not, I will not, marry you.

"Do these words seem cruel, unjust?" she went on, strangely calm. "Perhaps they are, yet it is surely better for me to speak them now than to wreck both our lives by remaining silent longer. You came to me a year ago, Captain Le Gaire, at a time when I was particularly lonely, and susceptible to kindness. You were an officer in the army, fighting for a cause I loved, and your friendly attentions were very welcome. My father liked you, and we were constantly thrown together. I have lived rather a secluded life, here on this plantation since my school days, meeting few men of my own station, and still young enough to be romantic. I thought I loved you, and perhaps the feeling I cherished might have truly become love had you always remained the same considerate gentleman I first believed you to be. Instead, little by little, I have been driven away, hurt by your coarseness, your lack of chivalry, until now, when it comes to the supreme test, I find my soul in revolt. Am I altogether to blame?"

I do not think he comprehended, grasped the truth she sought to convey, for he broke forth angrily:

"Very pretty, indeed! And do you think I will ever stand for it? Why, I should be the laughing stock of the army, a butt for every brainless joker in the camp. I am not such a fool, my girl." He stepped forward, grasping her hands, and holding them in spite of her slight effort to break away. "I am a frank-spoken man, yes, but I have never failed to treat you with respect."

"You may call it that, but you have repeatedly sworn in my presence, have ordered me harshly about, have even arranged this affair without first consulting me. If this be your manner before marriage, what brand of brutality could I expect after?"

"Poof! I may be quick-tempered; perhaps we are neither of us angels, but you choose a poor time for a quarrel. Come, Billie, let's kiss and make up. What! Still angry? Surely you are not in earnest?"

"But I am—very much in earnest."

"You mean to throw me down? Now at the last moment, with all the fellows waiting in the next room?"

She had her hands freed, and with them held behind her, stood motionless facing him.

"Would you marry me against my wish?" she asked. "Would you hold me to a promise I regret having made? I sent for you merely to tell you the truth, to throw myself on your generosity. I am scarcely more than a girl, Captain Le Gaire, and acknowledge I have done wrong, have been deceived in my own feelings. You have my word—the word of a Hardy—and we keep our pledges. I suppose I must marry you if you insist, but I implore you as a man of honor, a Southern gentleman, to release me."

Her voice faltered, and Le Gaire laughed.

"Oh, I begin to see how the wind blows. You do stand to your promise then. Very well, that's all I ask."

"I do not love you; I do not think I even respect you."

"Nevertheless you cannot shake me off like that. It's only a whim, a mood, Billie; once married I'll teach you the lesson over again. You were loving enough a month ago."

"I was in the midst of a girl's dream," she said slowly, "from which I have awakened—won't you release me, Captain Le Gaire?"

"I should say not," walking savagely across the room. "Come, Billie, I'm tired of this tantrum. A little of this sort of thing goes a long way with me. You're a headstrong, spoiled girl, and I've already put up with enough to try the patience of Job. Now I'm going to show my authority, insist on my rights. You've promised to marry me, now, to-night, and you are going to do it, if I have to go to your father and tell him plainly just what is the matter with you."

"With me! the only matter is that I have ceased to care for you."

"Yes, in the last week! Do you think I am blind? Do you suppose I don't know what has changed your mind so suddenly? Do you imagine I'm going to let you go for the sake of a damned Yankee?"

She fairly gasped in surprise, her fingers clinched, her cheeks flaming.

"A Yankee! Captain Le Gaire, are you crazy?"

"No," his temper bursting all control. "That's what's the matter with you. Oh, of course, you'll deny, and pretend to be horrified. I saw into your little game then, but I kept still; now you are carrying it too far."

"What do you mean? I am not accustomed to such language."

"I mean this: You think you are in love with that sneaking Yankee spy—I don't know his name—the fellow you helped through our lines, and then hid at Moran's. Now don't deny it; I asked some questions before I left there, and you were with him out under the grape arbor. I saw the imprint of your feet in the soft dirt. By God, I believe you knew he struck me, and permitted me to lie there while he got away."

"Captain Le Gaire—"

"Now you wait; this is my turn to talk. You thought you had fooled me, but you had not. Under other conditions I might accede to your request, but not now—not to give you over to a Yank. I've got your promise, and I propose to hold you to it."

"But it is not that," she protested. "I—I am not in love with Lieutenant Galesworth."

"So that is the fellow's name, is it—Galesworth," sneeringly. "I thought you pretended before you did not know."

She remained silent, confused.

"I'm glad to know who he is; some day we may have a settlement. Well, all I know about the affair is this, but that's enough—you rode with him all one night, hid him all the next day, and then helped him escape. You lied to me repeatedly, and now you want to break away from me at the last minute. It's either this Galesworth or somebody else—now who is it?"

Billie sank back into a chair, but with her eyes still on the man's face.

"It is no—one," she said wearily. "It is not that at all; I—I simply do not care for you in that way any longer."

"Poof! do you mean you won't keep your word?"

"I mean I want to be released—at least a postponement until I can be sure of myself."

"And I refuse—refuse, do you understand that? You either marry me to-night or I go to your father with the whole story. He'll be pleased to learn of your affair with a Yankee spy, no doubt, and of how you helped the fellow through our lines. And I've got the proofs too. Now, young lady, it is about time to stop this quarrel, and come down to facts. What are you going to do?"

"You insist?"

"Of course I do."

Her head sank upon her hand, and even from where I peered in upon them, helpless to get away, equally helpless to aid, I could see her form tremble.

"Then there is no escape, I suppose; I must keep my promise."

He touched her on the shoulder, indifferent to her shrinking away, a sarcastic smile on his lips.

"I knew you would. I don't take this Yankee business seriously, only I wanted you to know I understood all about it. You're too sensible a girl to get tangled up that way. We'll drop it now, and I'll show you how good I can be. May I kiss you?"

"I—I would rather not—not yet. Don't be angry, but I—I am not myself. Where were you going?"

"To tell your father it is all settled. You must be ready when we come back."

He paused with hand on the door looking back at her. There was a moment's breathless silence; then her lips whispered:

"Yes."

I turned to look out into the black orchard, and then gazed back into the lighted room. I knew not what to do, how to act. My remaining where I was could be of no possible service to her, indeed my discovery there would only add to her embarrassment, yet I had no reason to believe the officer had left his seat yonder, and therefore dare not drop to the ground. My heart ached for the girl, and I longed to get my hands on that cur of a Le Gaire, yet might venture to approach neither. It was a maddening situation, but I could only stand there in the dark, gripping the rail, unable to decide my duty. Perhaps she did love me—in spite of that vigorous denial, perhaps she did—and the very possibility made the blood surge hot through my veins. Could I help her in any way? Whatever her feeling toward me might be, there remained no question as to her growing dislike for Le Gaire. Not fear, but a peculiar sense of honor alone, held her to her pledge. And could I remain still, and permit her to be thus ruthlessly sacrificed? Would Major Hardy permit it if he knew?—if the entire situation was explained to him? Le Gaire never would tell him the truth, but would laugh off the whole affair as a mere lovers' quarrel. Could I venture to thrust myself in? If I did, would it be of any use? It would cost me my liberty, and the liberty of my men; probably I should not be believed. And would she ever forgive me for listening? I struggled with the temptation—swayed by duty and by love—until my heart throbbed in bewilderment. Then it was too late. Fate, tired of hesitancy, took the cards out of my hands.

Billie had been sitting, her head bowed on the table, the light above glistening on her hair. Suddenly she arose to her feet, her face white and drawn, her hands extended in a gesture of disgust. Attracted by the open window, and the black vista of night beyond, she stepped through onto the balcony, and stood there, leaning against the rail.



CHAPTER XX

WE ARRIVE AT A CRISIS

I remained there, pressed into one corner, unable to move, scarcely venturing to breathe, her skirt brushing my leg, the strands of her hair, loosened by the night wind, almost in my face. She was gazing straight out into the night, utterly unconscious of my presence, so deeply buried in her own trouble that all else seemed as nothing. For a moment she remained motionless, silent; then her hands pressed against her forehead, and her lips gave utterance to a single exclamation:

"Oh, God! I can never, never stand it! What shall I do?"

Perhaps I moved, perhaps some sense of the occult revealed my presence, for she turned swiftly, with a sharp gasp of the breath, and looked straight into my eyes. The recognition was instant, bewildering, a shock which left her speechless, choking back the cry of alarm which rose into her throat. She gripped the rail and stared as though at a ghost.

"Don't cry out," I entreated quickly. "Surely you know whom I am."

"Yes, yes," struggling to regain her voice. "I—know; but why are you here? How long have you been here?"

"It is a story too complex to repeat," I said earnestly, "but I have been here since your father first came—don't blame me, for I couldn't get away."

"Then—then you heard—"

"Yes; I heard everything. I tried not to; I pledge you my word it was all an accident. I was here for another purpose, a military purpose. I did not even know this was your home. I am trapped on this balcony, and dare not attempt to get away—I had to listen. You will believe what I say?"

I was pleading so desperately that she stopped me, one hand grasping my sleeve.

"Yes, of course. I am sure you could never do that purposely. But I do not know what to say, how to explain. You must go at once. Can you not realize my position if you are discovered here? What—what Captain Le Gaire would say?"

"Very easily," my voice insensibly hardening at the memory, "and I should like to remain to meet him, if that were the only danger. No, please stand exactly where you are, Miss Hardy, so as to keep me in the shadow. Thank you. There is a man sitting on a bench yonder just within the orchard. He has been there for the last twenty minutes, and it is his presence which has made it impossible for me to get away. Can I escape in any manner through the house?"

She shook her head, her glance wandering from the lighted room out again into the night.

"No; there is only the one door."

"Who are here besides Le Gaire and your father?"

"A half-dozen officers, two from the Louisiana regiment, the rest belonging to the staff; they are just ending up a feast in the dining-room."

"And is the house under guard?"

She hesitated, looking me now squarely in the eyes, her face clearly revealed as the light from within fell upon it.

"Why do you ask?—for military reasons?"

"No; that is all passed and gone. We came hoping to capture General Johnston, as scouts informed us this was his headquarters for the night. But he is not here, and you will do your cause no harm by telling me all I ask."

"I do not think there are any guards posted," she answered, convinced that I spoke the truth. "I have not been out, but I am sure there are no soldiers about the place, except the officers' servants at the stable with the horses. The general departed before dark, and took his bodyguard with him."

She had no reason to deceive me, and her sincerity was beyond question. This was better than I had dared hope, and instantly a new plan leaped into my mind, the very audacity of which made me gasp. Yet it might work, carried out with sufficient boldness, although only to be resorted to as a last desperate necessity. As I stood there, revolving this new thought swiftly through my mind, the old fear seemed to return to her.

"Did—did you hear—everything?" she asked again.

"I am afraid I did," I confessed humbly, "but I am going to forget."

"No, that is not necessary. I am not sure I am altogether sorry that you overheard."

"But I am—at least, a part of what I overheard struck me rather hard."

"What was that?"

"Your reference to me. Billie, I had been dreaming dreams."

Her eyes dropped, the long lashes shading them.

"But I had previously warned you," she said at last, very soberly. "You knew how impossible such a thought was; you were aware of my engagement."

"Yes, and I also knew Le Gaire. All I hoped for was time, sufficient time for you to discover his character. He is no bug-a-boo to me any longer, nor shall any tie between you keep me from speaking. As I have told you I did not come here expecting to meet you—not even knowing this was your home—yet you have been in my mind all through the night, and what has occurred yonder between you and that fellow has set me free. Do you know what I mean to do?"

"No, of course not; only—"

"Only I must believe what you said about me to him; only I must continue to respect an agreement which has been wrung out of you by threat. I refuse to be bound. I know now the one thing I wanted most to know, Billie—that you do not love him. Oh, you can never make me think that again—"

"Stop!" and she was looking straight at me again. "I shall listen to you no longer, Lieutenant Galesworth. I cannot deny the truth of much which you have said, but it is not generous of you to thus take advantage of what was overheard. It was merely a quarrel, and not to be taken seriously. He is coming back, and—and I am going to marry him."

There was a little catch in her voice, yet she finished the sentence bravely enough, flinging the words at me in open defiance.

"When? To-night?"

"Yes, immediately, as soon as Captain Le Gaire can confer with my father."

I smiled, not wholly at ease, yet confident I knew her struggle.

"You might deceive some one else, Miss Billie," I said quietly, "and perhaps if I were not here this programme might indeed be carried out—I believe Le Gaire is cur enough to insist upon it. But I am here, and you are not going to marry him, unless you tell me with your own lips that you love the man."

She stared into my eyes, as though doubting my sanity.

"Will you consent to say that?"

"I deny your right to even ask."

"Yet I shall take silence as a negative, and act accordingly. No, you will not hate me for it; you may imagine you do for the moment, but the time will come when your heart will thank me for interference, for saving you from a foolish sacrifice. You do not love Le Gaire; you cannot look me in the eyes and say that you do."

"You are impertinent, ungentlemanly. I simply refuse to answer a question you have no right to ask."

"I assume the right in accordance with a law as old as man."

"What law?"

"The law of love," I returned earnestly, "the love of a man for the one woman."

I could see her slight form sway as the full significance of these words came to her; her cheeks flamed, but there was no shadowing of her eyes.

"I am going in, Lieutenant Galesworth," she said finally, drawing back to the open window. "You have forgotten yourself, forgotten the respect due me."

"But I have not, Billie," and in my earnestness I neglected all caution, stepping forward into the full glare of light. "The highest respect is the basis of true love, and, little girl, I love you."

She clung to the frame of the window, rendered speechless by my audacity, struggling with herself.

"Oh, don't say that! I cannot listen; I must not. Believe me, Lieutenant Galesworth, I do not altogether blame you, for I have been indiscreet, foolish. I—I have not meant to be; I merely endeavored to prove kind and friendly, never once dreaming it would come to this. Now it must end, absolutely end; even if you despise me for a heartless coquette, there is no other way. My path is laid out for me, and I must walk in it. It may not be altogether pleasant, but I made my choice, and it is too late now for retreat. I want you to help me, not make it any harder."

"By going away, you mean? By leaving you to be coerced?"

"I was not coerced; it was my own free choice."

We were both so interested as to forget everything except ourselves, utterly oblivious to the situation, or to what was occurring without. My eyes were upon her face, endeavoring to read the real truth, and I knew nothing of the two men at the edge of the orchard. Like a shot out of the night broke in a voice:

"Billie, who is that you have with you?"

I saw her reel against the side of the window, every trace of color deserting her face, her eyes staring down into the darkness. She gasped for breath, yet answered, before a thought flashed through my brain:

"Only a friend, papa. Did you suppose I would consent to remain alone long?"

"Le Gaire said he just left you."

She leaned out over the rail, half concealing me from view.

"Oh, that must have been fifteen minutes ago," and she laughed. "It is never safe to leave me as long as that. You know that, papa, and now I warn Captain Le Gaire."

The older man echoed her laugh, striking his companion lightly on the shoulder.

"I fear the little witch is right, Gerald," he said pleasantly. "Come, we'll go in, and uncover the whole conspiracy."

Their backs were toward us, and she straightened up, grasping me by the hand. She was shaking from head to foot, even her voice trembled.

"You must not be found here, and we have but a moment. Drop to the ground as soon as they turn the corner. Don't hesitate; don't compromise me."

"But what will you tell them?"

"Oh, I do not know—anything that comes into my head. Don't mind me, I'll take care of myself."

"But you will not; that is the whole trouble—if I go now I lose you forever. Billie, let me stay!"

She broke from me, stepping back into the room, yet there was a look in her eyes which made me desperate. She did not love Le Gaire, she despised him. I was certain of that, and more than half convinced her heart was already mine. Should I run from the fight like a coward, sneak away in the night, leaving her to be sacrificed? The very thought sickened me. Better to meet the issue squarely—and I believed I knew how it could be done. I grasped the curtain, drew it down twice in signal, and stepped into the room.

"I am going to take command here now, Billie," I said with new sternness. "All you need to do is obey orders."



CHAPTER XXI

WE CAPTURE THE HOUSE

If she was startled and frightened before, she was doubly so now at this sudden revolt on my part. But I had no time then for explanation, only for the stern exercising of authority. If I was right, if deep down in the girl's heart there was love for me, she would forgive this action as soon as she realized its purpose—aye! she would respect me the more for daring the deed.

"Don't attempt to interfere now, my girl; go over to the big chair and sit down."

My revolver was in my hand, and she saw it, her eyes wide open.

"You—you are not going to hurt them?"

"No, not if they use any sense, but this is not going to be boys' play. Will you do as I say?"

She sat down, gripping the arms of the chair, and leaning forward, half inclined to scream, yet afraid to utter a sound. Without taking my eyes from her, I slipped across the room to where I would be partially concealed as the door opened. I knew what I was going to do, or, at least, attempt to do, and realized fully the risk I ran, and the chance of failure. It would require daring and coolness to capture those in the house, without raising any alarm, and likewise the prompt cooperation of my men. If they had seen my signal, and if I could disarm these first two, the rest should be comparatively easy. There were steps in the hall, and the jingle of spurs. Hardy entered first, his head turned backward as though he spoke to Le Gaire. I saw the girl rise to her feet, but my whole attention was concentrated upon the two men. The instant the space was sufficient, I forced the door shut, and stood with my back against it, the black muzzle of my Colt staring them in the eyes.

"Hands up, gentlemen!" I said sternly, "a movement means death."

They presented two astounded faces, Hardy's absolutely blank, so complete his surprise, but Le Gaire recognized me instantly, his mouth flying open, his eyes glaring.

"Good God!—you!"

"Yes; hands up, Le Gaire! Don't be a fool."

His dark complexion was yellow with pallor, and I knew him for a coward at heart, yet his very hatred of me made him dangerous. Hardy was different, realizing his helplessness, but eying me coolly, his hands held over his head.

"What does all this mean?" he asked quietly. "Who the devil are you?"

"He's that damned Yank Billie's been so interested in," broke out the captain, "the same fellow who knocked me off my horse at Jonesboro."

Major Hardy glanced toward his daughter inquiringly, but before she could utter a word in explanation I cut in:

"This has nothing to do with Miss Hardy. She is as much a prisoner as you are. Now, Captain, hand me your revolver—butt first, please. Major Hardy, I will also trouble you. Now both of you back up slowly against the wall."

Their faces were a study, Hardy rather seeming to enjoy the experience, his thin lips smiling grimly, but Le Gaire was mad, his jaw set, his eyes glaring at me.

"I should rather like to know what all this means, young man," said the former. "Do you expect to capture the house single-handed?"

"Hardly, but I've made a good start," now fully at ease, with a revolver in each hand, the third thrust in my belt. "However I've no time now to explain."

Without turning my face from them I sidled over to the window, speaking quietly into the darkness without:

"Come in, men, one at a time."

Almost to my surprise they came over the rail like so many monkeys, scarcely a sound revealing the movements. I saw the smile fade from off the major's lips, and my eyes caught Billie's wide open in astonishment. The fellows hustled in behind me, not knowing what was expected of them, but ready enough for anything. I glanced at them, beckoning to Miles.

"All here, Sergeant? Then draw down the shade. Wilson, you and Carney come over here, and keep an eye on these two men. Miles, let me speak to you a moment."

I led him into one corner, outlining the situation in a dozen words.

"There may be half a dozen in the dining-room—yes, just across the hall—including a preacher—armed, of course, but they don't suspect there is a Blue-coat within ten miles. They're out for a good time, and have been having it. If you can get the bunch covered first, there need be no fight. Don't fire a shot; just lay the iron down on them. Take all the men along, except the two I need here. You know your business."

"Sure," grinning, "and what then?"

"Scout around the house. I don't believe there are any guards set, but it will be safer to make sure."

"There's some cavalrymen at the stable, sir; we heard 'em singin' out there."

"A few officers' servants; you can attend to them easily enough after you are certain about the house. By the way, who is the best man to send back?"

"Into our lines, sir? Young Ross would be all right."

There was a desk in one corner, with writing materials on it, but I was most anxious just then to be assured we controlled the situation. Some of those fellows across the hall might become restless, and stroll in here at any moment, to discover the cause for delay.

"Very well, Miles; leave Ross here, and carry out your orders; that should give you seven men—why, no, it doesn't! Where is the negro?"

"He said you told him he didn't need go beyond the head of the ravine, sir," explained the sergeant, "and as one of the men heard you say so, I didn't feel like making him come along. He started back for camp."

"I believe I did promise something like that," I admitted, "and he wouldn't have been much assistance anyway. Well, six men and yourself ought to do the business. Watch the windows, so none get away."

Perhaps I should have gone myself, but I was disinclined to leave the room, desirous of getting off my despatch without delay, and possessed implicit confidence in the promptness and discretion of the sergeant. He drew his revolver, the men silently following his example, and the little party slipped quietly out into the hall, the last man closing the door behind him. Evidently they encountered no one in the passageway. Listening intently I heard the dining-room door thrown back violently, a confused noise of feet, of chairs hurriedly pushed aside, a voice uttering a stern order, the sound of a brief struggle, ended by a blow and the thud of a body striking the floor, then numerous voices speaking excitedly, followed by silence. Convinced the work had been accomplished, and that the house was now entirely in our possession, I walked across the room to the desk. Miss Hardy still sat where I had ordered, and I was compelled to pass her chair. Her eyes met mine coldly.

"Would you permit me to go across to my father?" she asked.

"Most certainly; you are in no sense a prisoner, except I shall have to ask you to remain in the room for the present."

She inclined her head ever so slightly.

"I shall ask no further favor, and thank you for granting this."

I sank into the chair at the desk, and watched her cross the room. Her words and actions hurt me, and yet it was scarcely to be expected that she would be pleased with the sudden change in affairs. To see me thus in complete control of the situation, her father and Le Gaire prisoners, all their plans frustrated, was maddening, particularly so as she realized that this result came largely through her own indiscretion. I began myself to doubt the complete success of my scheme. Without question I had the power now to prevent her marriage, yet I might have gone too far, and caused a revulsion of feeling. She had been interested in me before—for it had been her part to help me in times of danger, and sympathy lies very close to love—but now the conditions were changed, and she might feel very different toward my interference. Perhaps I was destined to lose rather than gain, yet it was too late now to draw back—I must play the game out to its ending. I wrote rapidly, utterly ignoring her conversation with Hardy, yet someway conscious that Le Gaire sought to join in, and was answered in a single swift sentence, the girl not even turning to glance at him. The simple action caused my heart to leap to my throat—could it be the lady played a part, her coldness to me intended to deceive others? It was a hope, at least, and I went to my task with fresh courage. I told it all in a dozen sentences—Johnston's plans for the morrow; the withdrawal of Confederate troops from our left, and their concentration in reserve of the enemy's centre; our capture of the Hardy house, and my hope to retain possession until the right of our line could be flung forward. Then I called Ross, and he came across the room, looking scarcely more than a boy, but with a serious face.

"Can you find your way back down the ravine to our lines, my lad?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then don't lose any time. The Confederate troops have been withdrawn, but you must watch out for stragglers. Give this to Colonel Cochran, and tell him it must be forwarded to headquarters at once. Explain to him the situation here. Now be off."

He saluted, wheeled sharply about, and went out the window. I heard him strike the ground. Then I sat silently looking at the others in the room, wondering how the sergeant was getting along, and slowly realizing that I had a white elephant on my hands. I was endeavoring to play two games at once, love and war, and the various moves were confusing. It might be possible even for my little squad to hold this advance position until reinforcements arrived, but what could be done with the prisoners? Billie might forgive me—realizing the motive—for all which had occurred thus far, but if I were to turn her father and Le Gaire over to the hardships of a Northern prison, I could expect no mercy. I cared little as to the fate of the others, they had taken the chances of war, but these two must be liberated before our troops came up. I could not catch the girl's eyes; she sat with averted face, talking earnestly to her father. Uneasy, and puzzled how best to straighten out the tangle, I went out into the hall, and glanced in at the room opposite. A bunch of gray-clad men were against the wall, disarmed and helpless, even their tongues silent, and three watchful troopers guarded them, revolvers in hand. All stared at me as I stepped forward.

"Where is the sergeant?"

"At the stable, sir."

"Oh, yes; hope he has as good luck there—got them all?"

"Every bloomin' one of 'em, sir. They was quite nice about it."

An indignant voice spoke from the gray line.

"Blamed if it ain't Atherton! Say, Major, what does all this mean?"

I laughed, stepping forward so as to see the speaker's face.

"Captain Bell, isn't it? Thought I recognized your voice. I'm not Atherton, although I believe I was introduced to you under that name once. I have wanted to thank you ever since for bearing testimony in my favor."

His jaw fell, his eyes staring.

"Who the devil are you then?"

"A Federal officer; my name is Galesworth."

"And this is no joke?"

"Well, hardly, Captain. I shouldn't advise you to take the affair that way. These fellows here might not appreciate the humor of it."

I turned back, and met Miles in the hall, just as he came in through the front door. He grinned at sight of me, evidently well pleased.

"Got every mother's son of 'em, sir," he reported. "Easy job too; never had to fire a shot, and only hit one fellow; he started a shindy in there," with a glance toward the dining-room. "There were five gray-jacks out in the stable, all asleep, an' they was like lambs. The blamed fools never had a guard set."

"They felt safe enough, no doubt, back here," I returned. "The last thing they thought about was any Yankees getting this far. Do you know what they were gathered here for?"

He shook his head.

"It was intended for a wedding party, until we butted in."

"Hell! not that pretty girl back in there?"

"Yes," for somehow I felt I had better tell him enough of the truth to make the situation clear. He was an honest, clear-headed fellow, and I needed help. "And that Confederate Captain—Le Gaire—was to be the bridegroom. I am going to tell you the whole story, Sergeant, and then you'll see what sort of a fix I'm in."

I went over it hastily, yet with sufficient detail so as to make it all clear to his mind. He listened soberly at first, and then his eyes began to twinkle, and he interrupted with numerous questions. Apparently he found the tale most amusing.

"Well, if that ain't the rummest story ever I heard! It beats a novel by 'bout a mile. I never was married myself, sir, but I've got a blamed pretty girl waitin' for me back in ol' Illinoy, an' I reckon I know what she'd want me to do in a case like this. Sure, I'm with you until the cows come home, and so are the rest o' the boys. Lord, this is the kind o' sojerin' I like; somethin' happenin' every minute. What's next, sir?"

"Perhaps I better look over the house first," I said thoughtfully, "and see where we can stow away these prisoners without needing all our men to guard them. You take charge in there while I am gone, Miles, and let the girl go anywhere she pleases so she promises not to leave the house."

"All right, sir," and the sergeant saluted, his eyes shining, as I started for the stairs.



CHAPTER XXII

MISS WILLIFRED DECLARES HERSELF

I glanced at the various rooms up stairs, but nothing seemed exactly suitable for our purpose, and, finally, taking a trooper along to hold a light, explored the basement with better results. Here I found a considerable cellar, divided into two sections, the floor of stone slabs, and the walls well bricked. Iron bars, firmly set, protected the small windows, and altogether the place appeared favorable for our purpose. To be sure, desperate prisoners could not be confined in such quarters for any length of time, but it would answer temporarily, providing we left a guard within. Satisfied as to this, after fixing up a stout bar across the door, I returned to the first floor, and gave orders to have the men taken below. We could not differentiate between officers and privates, but robbed the rooms up stairs of bed-clothing, and thus made them as comfortable as possible. Bell and the clergy-man made voluble protests, but yielded to the inevitable, being persuaded by the revolvers of the guards to accompany the others. So far as arms went we were now well supplied, having added to our original equipment the officers' pistols, and the carbines of the men captured in the stable. This matter settled I turned to the consideration of the case of the two men remaining in the front parlor.

Here was a more serious problem, for I could not herd Major Hardy with those fellows below, nor was I willing to humiliate Le Gaire by any such treatment. Not that I thought him too good to associate with these others, but Billie must not think I was actuated by any feelings of revenge. I talked the situation over with the sergeant, who proved a hard-headed, practical man, and we decided upon an upstairs room, over the kitchen, which had only one small window, through which a man of ordinary size could hardly crawl. I went up to examine this more carefully, and to nail down the window frame. As I came out into the hall again, rather dreading the impending interview in the parlor, I saw her coming alone up the broad stairway. She did not see me until her foot was upon the last step, and then she stopped, suddenly, one hand gripping the rail, her cheeks burning. One glance into her eyes caused me to nerve myself for an unpleasant session.

"I have been waiting for you to return," she said very coldly, yet with a slight falter in the voice, "and when I spoke to the sergeant, he said you were up here."

I bowed, hat in hand, and waited, unwilling to speak until I knew something of her purpose.

"Lieutenant Galesworth, what is the meaning of all this? What do you propose doing with my father and Captain Le Gaire?"

"Did they send you to me to find out?"

"No; father merely supposed I was going to my own room after something I needed."

"And Le Gaire?" I insisted.

She looked at me frankly, her eyes utterly fearless.

"We have scarcely spoken, and—and he certainly would never have advised my coming to you. I came of my own volition, because—well, because you claimed this was all a service to me. I—I do not understand what you meant, or—or why you hold us prisoners."

I thought I saw light now. She forced herself to be angry with me, but face to face was unable to carry out the programme.

"Will you come up here, Miss Billie?" I asked. "Let us take this settee a moment, and I will endeavor to explain. We are alone here, and I would not care to talk freely before the others. I prefer them to think this is purely a military affair, don't you?"

She hesitated, biting her lip, and standing motionless. My hand was extended, but she ignored it, yet, after a moment, she stepped up beside me, her hand on the settee.

"It—it is not a military affair then?"

"Only incidentally—I told you the truth before."

"I—I do not remember."

"Perhaps I failed to make all clear; indeed, I was a little hazy myself, events crowded upon us so rapidly. Won't you sit down while I talk?"

She sank upon the settee, as though to an order, looking into my face, with an expression in her eyes I was unable to comprehend.

"I have wanted to see you alone," I began, determined there should be no lack of courage on my part. "There is no longer need of any secrets between us. We have met only once before to-night, but that meeting was of such a character that we were instantly acquainted. To be sure we were working at cross-purposes, and you outwitted me, but later you squared all that by saving me from capture."

"Why go over that unfortunate occurrence?" she interrupted. "Do you not suppose I regret that enough already?"

"I doubt if you regret it at all."

"But I do—I haven't had a moment's peace since."

"Indeed! Why?" and I bent lower, eager to read her eyes. "Because even in that little time you had learned to care for me?"

"Your words are insolent," rising to her feet, proudly, but I remained directly in her path.

"No, Miss Willifred," earnestly, "they are not, because they come from the heart. You are a woman, and therefore you understand. You cannot be angry with me, no matter how hard you try. You are endeavoring to deceive yourself, but the effort is useless. You do care for me—that was why you waited for me to get safely across the river; that was why you have come to me now. Ever since I left you in the grape arbor I have been in your thoughts."

"And why I was also about to marry Captain Le Gaire, I suppose," she interposed defiantly, but with eyes unable to meet mine.

"I can comprehend that easily enough, helped by what I overheard. You cannot tell me you desired to marry Captain Le Gaire—can you?"

"No," for I stopped, and thus compelled an answer. "It would be useless to deny that."

"I was so sure of this that I acted, took the one course open to me to prevent your doing this wrong. I deliberately determined to risk your displeasure rather than permit the sacrifice. You were marrying him merely because you had promised, because you could not explain to your father why your feelings had changed—you were afraid to confess that you loved a Yankee."

"But I didn't—it was not that!"

"Then what was it?"

She remained silent, but now I was fully aroused.

"Billie," my voice low, and barely reaching her ear. "When I rode away that night I knew I loved you. I was a Yankee soldier, but I had been captured by a Rebel. I scarcely possessed a hope then of meeting you again, but I did believe you already realized what kind of a man Le Gaire was. I could not conceive that you would marry him, and I swore to myself to seek you out at the earliest moment possible. Don't draw back from me, dear, but listen—you must listen. This means as much to you as to me."

"But I cannot—I must not."

"What is there to prevent? Your pride of the South? Your adherence to the Confederacy? I care nothing for that; we are not Rebel and Yankee, but man and woman. As to Le Gaire, I have no respect for his claim upon you, nor would your father have if he knew the truth. It is all an accident our meeting again, but it was one of God's accidents. I thought I was sent here to capture Johnston, but my real mission was to save you. I've gone too far now to retreat. So have you."

"I?" in half indignant surprise.

"Dear, do you suppose I would dare this if I doubted you?—if I did not believe your heart was mine?"

"And if convinced otherwise, what would you do?"

The tone in which this was spoken, the swift question startled me.

"Do? Why, there would be nothing to do, except return."

"Leaving your prisoners?"

I glanced out through the nearest window, noting the sky growing gray in the east, and suddenly realized that, if we succeeded in getting away ourselves now, the transporting of Confederates under guard would be scarcely possible. She seemed to read all this in my face, before I could frame an answer.

"I have listened to you, Lieutenant Galesworth," she burst forth, "because I had to. You have had everything your own way thus far, but now it is my turn. I am a woman, a woman of the South, a soldier's daughter, and am not likely to surrender my heart, my principles, my life before such an assault. You have taken too much for granted; because I have not wished to hurt you, you have believed my silence indicative of love; you have construed friendship into devotion. Now it is my turn to speak. I did like you, and helped you; without doubt I was indiscreet, but I thought only of friendship, supposing we would part then, never to meet again. Under those circumstances," and her voice faltered slightly, "it may be that I said and did more than I should, enough—well, enough to encourage you. But—but I thought it all over with. You knew of Captain Le Gaire, and that should have been sufficient. Yet you come here, in face of all this, and—and dare to make love to me."

"But you are forgetting what I overheard—the fact that I know your real feelings toward Le Gaire."

"No, I do not forget, but that was nothing—nothing to do with you. It was merely the result of a mood, a whim, a lovers' quarrel. No, don't speak, don't stop me. I am not going to lie. It was not a mood, nor a whim. I had been analyzing my own heart, and discovered Captain Le Gaire was not what I had believed him to be. The very fact that both he and my father so took everything for granted, arranged all details without consulting my wishes, made me rebellious. But your dictation is even worse than theirs. They had some right, while you have none, absolutely none, Lieutenant Galesworth—have you?"

"I—I hardly know," confused by this direct question, and the flash of her eyes. "I supposed I had."

"Yet with nothing but imagination to build upon. Have I ever told you I did not care for Captain Le Gaire, or that I loved you?"

"No," I admitted, feeling myself driven relentlessly to the wall.

"I am not angry at you, for I understand how all this has occurred. I believe you have been inspired by the highest motives, and a desire to serve me. If I am angry at any one, it is myself. I have permitted you to go too far, to assume too much. Now it ends, for I am going to marry Captain Le Gaire."

She stood up straight before me, her head poised proudly, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright with excitement. Never before had she appeared more attractive, and the love that swelled up into my heart seemed to choke all utterance. Could I have mistaken everything? Could I have deceived myself so completely? Did these hard words represent her true purpose, or were they merely wrung out of her by stress of circumstance? I could not determine, but I knew this—I could not turn about now and retreat. If I did that I would certainly lose, while if I fought it out there was still hope. No woman—at least no woman like Willifred Hardy—ever loved a coward, or a quitter, and I was determined she should not catalogue me in either class. All this came to me rather in instinct than thought, yet I was ready enough when she began questioning.

"Now you will go away, won't you?"

"Go away?"

"Yes, back to your own people, and leave us alone. There is no reason why you should stay here longer. You are not serving me, nor your cause. Release your prisoners, and get away safely before you yourself are captured."

"Did Le Gaire tell you to make this proposition?"

"Certainly not," indignantly, "I have not spoken to Captain Le Gaire."

"Well, Miss Billie," soberly, "I accept your words just as they are spoken, and will trouble you no longer with my attentions. But this has become a military matter now. It is too late for us to attempt getting back, but I have sent a man for reinforcements, and we shall hold this house until they come. I do not propose to release a single prisoner, or permit a rumor of what has occurred here to reach Confederate headquarters. You are also a prisoner, although I will accept your parole."

She flung back her head defiantly.

"Which I refuse to give."

"Then obey my orders; is that your room yonder?"

"Yes."

"I will trouble you to go in there."

She stared at me, biting her lip, with foot tapping the carpet, but I had spoken sternly.

"Do you mean that?"

"Every word. I hope I shall not have to call one of my men, and place you under guard."

There could be no doubt she was angry, yet I was the master, and, after one glance into my face, her eyes burning, she swept by me, and entered the room designated. I gave a glance about its interior, marking the distance to the ground; then took the key-and inserted it in the outer lock. She stood silently facing me, her face flushed, her bosom rising and falling swiftly.

"I regret very much this necessity," I apologized, "but you have left me no alternative."

"I have no desire to be spared," she returned, "and no favors to ask, Lieutenant Galesworth."

Our eyes met, mine, I am sure, as resolute as her own, and I stepped back into the hall, closing and locking the door.



CHAPTER XXIII

THE CHALLENGE

I went slowly down stairs, swayed by a conflict of emotions. Had I indeed gone too far, been too stern and abrupt? Still it was surely better to err in this direction than to exhibit weakness, and it was only between these two that I had any choice remaining. What lay between us and our own lines was uncertain—possibly Confederate pickets, surely bands of stragglers, renegades from both armies. Now that we had waited so long, it would be a desperate chance to attempt to traverse that ravine in daylight. We were far safer here, hidden away, but must guard well that no knowledge of our presence be scattered abroad. Billie had defied me, threatened, and refused to accept parole; nothing remained but to hold her prisoner. Besides her words had stung and angered me. Even while I doubted their entire truth they still hurt, serving to increase my bitterness toward Le Gaire.

I was in this mood as I paused a moment to glance out at the gray dawn. The smooth pike was at least a hundred yards away, barely visible here and there through the intervening trees. Everything about was quiet and deserted—war seemed a long way off. Standing there alone, hearing the birds singing in the branches, and gazing out across the green, closely trimmed grass, I could scarcely realize our perilous position, or the exciting events of the past night. I felt more like a guest than an invader, and was compelled to bring myself back to realities with an effort. I was helped by the sudden appearance of Miles in the hallway.

"Thought I better take another look down stairs, sir," he explained, as I turned, facing him. "They are quiet enough in there."

"I was just going in," I said. "We will have to put those two with the others at present. Our people should be up here before night, and meanwhile we must remain quiet. Anything happened in there?"

"Nothing important. The old major fell asleep after the girl left, but the other fellow is pacing back and forth like a caged tiger, and cursing. He's asked me some leadin' questions 'bout you, an' where Miss Hardy's gone. Were you goin' in, sir?"

"Yes; you better wait."

I opened the door, and stepped into the parlor, the sergeant following, evidently anticipating a scene. The room showed some signs of disorder, the furniture disarranged, and one chair overturned. Wilson sat in front of the window, the shade of which had been drawn down, and the other guard was near the door. Both men had their revolvers drawn, and, from their positions, and Le Gaire's attitude, apparently trouble was anticipated. He was in the middle of the room, with hands clinched and eyes blazing, and wheeled to face me as I entered.

"Oh, it's you, is it!" he exclaimed, sudden anger sweeping away every vestige of control. "I may be a prisoner, but I'll be damned if I'll keep still. This whole affair is an outrage. What have you done with Miss Hardy?"

"The lady has gone to her own room up stairs, Captain Le Gaire," I replied courteously enough.

"But not until after seeing you, you sneaking Yankee hound," he burst forth, striding forward. "What does this all mean? What influence have you got over the girl?"

The major sat up suddenly.

"See here, Le Gaire, you leave my daughter's name out of this."

The enraged captain favored him with a glance.

"I know more about this affair than you do, Hardy. This blue-bellied puppy was with Billie before, and I knew there was some infernal scheme on the moment I saw him here to-night. The girl helped him to get away once before, and there's some trick being worked off now."

The older man was upon his feet instantly.

"Hold on there; not another word; whatever my girl has done she is not going to be condemned in my presence without a hearing."

"Major Hardy," I broke in, and stepped between them. "This is my quarrel, and not yours. Your daughter has done nothing for which she can be criticised. All her connection with me has been accidental, and during our last interview she merely begged for your release. When I refused to grant the request, she repudiated her parole, and I locked her in her own room as a prisoner. I did not even know this was your home, or that Miss Willifred was here, when I came. When Captain Le Gaire insinuates that there was any arrangement between us he lies."

"Were you not on the balcony alone, talking together?"

"Yes, she caught me there, by coming out suddenly."

"And protected you, you coward—drew us into the trap."

"Miss Hardy had no knowledge of what I proposed doing, nor that I had any men with me. Indeed, I myself acted merely on the spur of the moment."

"What were you sneaking about there in the dark for then?" he sneered. "You are nothing but a contemptible spy."

I was holding my temper fairly well, yet my patience was near the breaking point.

"I may as well tell you," I answered at last, "and my men will corroborate all I say. We came here under special orders hoping to capture General Johnston, who, we were informed, was quartered here for the night. We had no other object—"

"Until you saw Billie."

I wheeled upon him so fiercely that the fellow took a step backward.

"Captain Le Gaire, you have said enough—all I shall permit you to say. Miss Hardy had no connection whatever with this affair. If it is true that you are engaged to the lady, then you should be defending instead of attacking her."

"I should hardly come to you for instructions."

"Then take them from Major Hardy."

"Oh, hell, Hardy don't understand. He's as blind as a bat, but you cannot pull the wool over my eyes, Mr. Yankee spy. I've seen some of your fine work before. If I wasn't a prisoner under guard I'd give you a lesson you'd remember as long as you lived."

I stood holding my breath, looking at him, scarcely less angry than he, yet outwardly cool.

"You would give me a lesson?"

"I spoke plainly enough, I hope. This is a personal matter between us, and you know it, and a Southern gentleman settles his own affairs. Only a Yankee coward would hide behind his authority."

"And you think I do?"

He glanced about, with a wave of the hand at the guards.

"Doesn't it look like it?" he asked sarcastically.

The sneer cut me to the quick, cut me so sharply I replied before stopping to reflect. If he wished to fight me I would give him a chance; either he must make good his boasting or have his bluff called. And there was but one way. I looked at the two troopers, who were staring at us in deep interest; at Miles' grinning appreciation of the scene, and at Hardy, puzzled, but still angry at the use of his daughter's name. Then my eyes met the captain's.

"I am greatly inclined to accommodate you, Captain Le Gaire," I said quietly, "and give you any opportunity you may desire on equal terms. Sergeant, take the men into the hall."

They passed out reluctantly enough, and I stepped over to make certain the door was securely closed. Then I came back, and fronted the fellow. He had not changed his position, although the major had again risen to his feet.

"Well," I asked, "now what is it you wish to say?"

"Am I no longer a prisoner?"

"Not so far as our personal relations are concerned. My men will prevent your leaving these grounds, or sending out any message before night. Otherwise you are at liberty. Now what do you propose doing?"

My unexpected promptness dazed him, but in no way diminished his anger.

"Will you fight me?"

"I see no occasion for it."

"Then I will furnish one."

Before I could recoil, or even realize his purpose, he sprang the single necessary step forward and, with open hand, struck me in the face.

"Even a blue-belly should understand the meaning of that," he exclaimed hotly.

I did understand, the hot blood surging to my cheeks, yet in some mysterious way I never in my life felt cooler, more completely in control of myself. Every nerve tingled, yet not a muscle moved, and I smiled into his face, truly glad it had come to this.

"Personal combat is not a habit with us, Captain Le Gaire," I said coldly. "But in this case you will not find me seeking escape. I am very much at your service."

"Now?" his eyes blazing.

"The quicker the better. Who seconds you?"

"Major Hardy, of course—"

"I'm damned if I will, Le Gaire," burst in the staff-officer indignantly, thrusting himself forward. "You forced this matter with an insult no gentleman could take, and besides have dragged my daughter's name into the affair."

"You refuse to act for me?"

"Emphatically, yes! In the first place I don't believe in your damned Louisiana code, and in my opinion, you've acted like a confounded bully. So far as I can see Galesworth has done his duty, and nothing more. I'd go out with him, under the circumstances, before I would with you."

"I could not think of asking such a favor," I blurted out in astonishment.

"You do not need to ask—I volunteer, if you can use me."

I do not believe I shall ever forget the expression on the dark, scowling face of Le Gaire. He had not expected this, that he would be deserted by his own people, yet the fact merely served to increase his bitterness, harden his purpose. The twist of his lips left his teeth exposed in an ugly grin.

"All right, Hardy," he said, at last, "I'll not forget this, and I reckon the story won't help you any in our army. I'll get the Yank, second or no second, if the fellow doesn't back out."

"You need have no fear on that score," I replied soberly. "I am no believer in the duel, and this will be my first appearance on the field, but you have got to fight now. Moreover you shall have all your rights guarded." I stepped to the door, and opened it.

"Sergeant, go down to the prisoners and bring Captain Bell here."

He was back in another moment, grasping the arm of the surprised Confederate, who stared about at us in silent wonderment.

"Captain Bell," I asked, "I presume you have some acquaintance with the duelling code?"

He bowed gravely, waiting for me to explain.

"Captain Le Gaire has seen fit to strike me in the face with his open hand, and I have agreed to meet him at once. Will you act for the gentleman?"

"Why not Major Hardy?"

"Because he will represent my interests."

Bell turned his eyes toward the major, puzzled and uncertain.

"This looks rather queer to me, Hardy. Has Le Gaire done something which will prevent my acting in his behalf?"

Hardy stroked his chin, and squared his shoulders.

"Captain Le Gaire made some reflections on my family, sir, which I resent. I refused to act for him on that ground, but I know of no reason why you could not honorably serve. I merely prefer to assist Galesworth."

Bell hesitated, feeling, no doubt, there was something behind all this he did not comprehend. It was also evident enough that he was no admirer of Le Gaire, the latter gazing at him without a word.

"Am I perfectly free to act?"

"Yes—on parole of the grounds."

"Very well, I accept; I presume my man Is the challenged party?"

Both Hardy and myself bowed.

"Then I will ask Captain Le Gaire to accompany me to the dining-room. I shall return in a few moments."

We watched them pass out, and then Hardy and I turned, and looked into each others' faces.



CHAPTER XXIV

I BECOME A FAMOUS SWORDSMAN

"Sergeant," I said shortly, "I think you can be of greater service in the hall."

He disappeared reluctantly enough, and, as the door closed, I extended my hand to the major.

"I certainly appreciate your assistance," I began warmly. "I know very little about these affairs, or how they are conducted."

He took my hand, yet with no great cordiality, plainly enough already somewhat doubtful as to his course.

"I presumed as much, sir, but first, and before we proceed further, I should like to have some explanation of the trouble between you and Le Gaire. You are doubtless aware that I am the father of Willifred Hardy."

"Yes, Major, and I am perfectly willing to tell you the whole story. Shall I send for Miss Hardy to corroborate whatever I may say?"

"No, sir. You are a Yankee, but a gentleman, and I accept your word. I prefer Billie should know nothing of what is occurring."

I told it swiftly from the beginning, yet was careful to leave no impression that she had performed anything more than a mere friendly service to an enemy in danger. Even then it was difficult for the Confederate to appreciate fully the girl's motives, and his face clearly expressed disapproval. As I came to an end, after telling of her effort to gain his release, and my locking her within her own room, he paced back and forth across the floor, scowling down at the carpet.

"By Gad, you tell the story all right," he exclaimed, "but that doesn't seem like Billie; whatever got into the girl to make her do a trick like that?"

"You mean helping me?"

"Yes, against Le Gaire. I can understand how she took you through to Jonesboro; that was necessary. But all the rest is a puzzle. Did you know she was engaged to Captain Le Gaire?"

"Yes; but evidently she did not think it would help him any to betray me, and she was careful enough I should not escape in time to do any harm to your army. There was no treason in her act, Major, only she felt sympathy toward me."

"But she permitted your attack on the man."

"She knew nothing of it, until it was all over with." I hesitated, but why should I? Surely he must already begin to perceive the truth. "That she should have left him lying there until I was safely across the river is the only act which tells hard against Le Gaire. No woman could have done that, Major Hardy, if she really loved the wounded man."

He did not reply, evidently endeavoring to realize all my meaning.

"This is where you have made your mistake," I went on convincingly. "Nothing is holding your daughter to Le Gaire but her promise. I was obliged to overhear their conversation after you left, and he appealed to her pride, to the honor of the Hardys, in order to gain her consent to the marriage. She told him she no longer loved him, that he was not the man she had supposed him to be—actually begged for release. I can understand the situation, and, it seems to me, you ought to now. He is a handsome fellow, dashing and reckless, the kind to make an impression. She was flattered by his attentions, and deceived into the thought that she really cared for him. Then she saw his true nature—his selfishness, brutality, cowardice, even—and revolted. I doubt if I had anything to do with this change—it was bound to come. You are a man, Major Hardy, and must know men—is Le Gaire the kind you would want your daughter to marry?"

"By Gad! the way you put it—no!" emphatically. "I've thought well enough of him until to-night; probably he's kept his best side turned toward me, and, besides, it never once occurred to me that Billie didn't want him. I've heard stories about the man, pretty hard ones at that, but he appeared like a gentleman, and I naturally supposed them largely fairy tales. Because I felt sure Billie liked him, I did also, but to-night he has shown me the other side of his character. Still, I don't know that I wonder much at his hating you."

"I have given him all the cause I could—would gladly give more if possible."

Hardy's eyes twinkled.

"I reckon your heart is all right, even if your uniform is the wrong color. But, young man, this affair puts me in a queer box. I spoke up rather hastily a while back, and now here I am seconding a damned Yankee in a fight against one of our own men—it don't just look right."