"I merely accepted your own offer; no doubt my sergeant would act."

"Oh, I'll stay. The fact is, I rather like you, Lieutenant—eh, what is the name? Oh, yes, Galesworth—you see Billie never even so much as mentioned having met you. Anyway, I'm in this affair, and am going to stick, although if all they tell about Le Gaire is true I wouldn't give much for your chances of coming out whole."

"He is a duellist then?"

"Notorious; although, as near as I can learn, he has not had a serious affair for some time. He assured me once, when I ventured to question him, that he was through with that sort of thing. It's common practice among the Louisiana hot-bloods, and I supposed he had got his senses. Probably Billie never even heard of his reputation in this respect. What do you do best—shoot or fence?"

"Shoot, although I am hardly an expert at either."

"Le Gaire will name swords," he said soberly. "He's a fine swordsman, and probably the only question is how badly he'll try to hurt you."

"A pleasant prospect surely."

"For him, yes, but as your second I propose impressing Captain Bell, when he arrives, with the idea that you are particularly expert with the sabre, which happens to be the only sword weapon present. If I succeed he may decide that pistols will be better."

I stared at him with full appreciation, realizing the man was really seeking to serve me.

"May make it too," he went on calmly. "You're a stronger man than Le Gaire, and that means something with the sabre. If I can convince Bell, he'll make Le Gaire decide in favor of the gun. There he comes now. Well, Bell, you've been long enough about it—must be your first case."

The infantryman bowed rather coldly, his back against the closed door, as he surveyed us both.

"I have not had much experience in such affairs, Major Hardy, and I desired some understanding of the circumstances before finally consenting to act," he replied stiffly. "I am informed that Captain Le Gaire is the challenged party."

"Well, that might be a question, but we will waive the technicalities. Le Gaire provoked the fight, and was rather nasty about it in my judgment, but all we are anxious about now is to get the preliminaries over with as soon as possible. We acknowledge that your man was the one challenged."

"Then, sir, we demand an immediate meeting, and name swords as the weapons."

Hardy turned to me, a smile of delight illumining his face.

"Good enough," he exclaimed, sufficiently loud to reach the ears of the astonished captain. "Not so bad, hey, Galesworth?"

I nodded, but without venturing a reply, and Bell exhibited his surprise in his face.

"Is—is Lieutenant Galesworth an expert with the sabre?" he asked, after a moment's silence.

"Is he!" echoed Hardy. "Do you mean to say Le Gaire has never heard of him?"

"I—I think not."

"That's odd. Why, we of the staff knew all about those sabre trials in the Federal camp. I naturally supposed Le Gaire wished to try his skill with the champion for the honor of the South. Such a struggle ought to be worth seeing, but Galesworth would have the advantage of weight, and length of arm."

Bell evidently did not know either what to say or do. This threw an entirely new light on the situation, and left him in an awkward position. He shuffled uneasily about.

"Would—would you gentlemen mind my consulting Captain Le Gaire again?" he questioned doubtfully. "I think he should fully understand his opponent's skill."

Hardy laughed, completely at ease, and enjoying the other's dilemma.

"Well, I hardly know about that, Bell. Under the laws of the code we can hold you to your first choice, and I'm inclined to do so. Great joke on Le Gaire. However, I am willing to leave it to my man. What do you say, Galesworth?"

I had retired to the opposite side of the room, and was leaning with one arm on the mantel. In spite of the seriousness of the affair, it was impossible not to be amused by this sudden turn. Bell's eyes shifted questioningly toward me.

"Surely Lieutenant Galesworth will not desire to take any undue advantage," he ventured.

"Was not that Captain Le Gaire's idea?" I returned sharply. "He has the reputation of expert swordsmanship."

"He is a swordsman, yes, but does not profess to excel with the sabre."

I waited a moment in silence, permitting my hesitancy to become plainly apparent.

"Well, Captain Bell, much as I prefer the weapons already named, I will nevertheless consent to a change. I am ready to concede anything if I can only compel your man to fight."

"Do you mean to question Captain Le Gaire's courage, sir?" hotly.

"He seems to be fairly solicitous about his own safety, at least," chimed in Hardy. "Go on, Bell, and talk it over with him—this is not our row."

The little captain backed out still raging, and the major followed him to the door, lingering there as though listening. I watched curiously until he straightened up, struggling to keep back a laugh.

"That's some liar you've got for a sergeant, Galesworth," he said genially. "Bell ran up against him in the hall, and stopped to ask a question. He wasn't exactly certain we had been telling the truth. Your man must have been primed for the occasion the way he turned loose. Would like to have seen Bell's eyes pop out as the fellow described your exploits. Makes me proud to know you myself."

"Did Miles say I was an expert with the sabre?" I questioned in astonishment.

"Did he! Champion of the Army of the Tennessee; undefeated for two years, both afoot and on horse-back; described a wonderful stroke that caught them all; told about how you accidentally drove it an inch too far once, and killed your opponent. Oh, he was great. It will be pistols when Bell comes back; don't doubt that, my boy, and I know the very spot—out back of the stable, level ground, and no interference."

The interest which Major Hardy was exhibiting, as well as the promptness with which he had espoused my side of the quarrel, made me suspicious that he was not altogether sorry to be thus easily rid of Le Gaire. I could not venture questioning him on so delicate a matter, but without doubt he also saw the Louisianian in a new light, and began to comprehend the change in his daughter. Moreover the humor in the situation appealed to him, and, having once volunteered to serve me, he became thoroughly loyal to that purpose. His very presence gave me courage, and his words stiffened me for the coming ordeal. This was my first occasion of the kind and, as the earlier anger wore off, I found myself looking forward with some dread to the encounter. It was not fear, but the newness of the experience jarred my nerves. I paced back and forth across the room, only partially aware of what he was saying, endeavoring to straighten matters out in my own mind. Was I doing right? Was I justified in this course of action? I had followed the impulse of passion, the sting of Le Gaire's blow driving all other memory from me. But now I realized the peril in which my action might involve others, the men under my command, for instance, and wondered what Billie would think and say when the news of the quarrel reached her. She would understand the real cause, yet, with her father upon my side, I was not likely to suffer greatly. Anyway the die was cast; it was too late now to regret. Bell returned full of apology and explanation, expressing a desire that the weapons be changed to pistols. Hardy arose from his chair, his eyes twinkling behind heavy lashes.

"Sure; Galesworth is easily satisfied. I have two derringers up stairs exactly alike; my father was out with them twice! Quite a fad duelling was in his day, but the guns haven't been used for years. Come handy now. By the way, Lieutenant, you shoot equally well with either hand, I believe? Very valuable accomplishment; never could myself. We will meet you, Captain Bell, back of the stable in fifteen minutes. Sorry we have no surgeon present. That is all, is it not?" as the infantryman still lingered. "The minor details can be arranged on the field."



CHAPTER XXV

THE END OF THE DUEL

The sun was slightly above the horizon, still showing round and red through the slight mist of early morning, as the major and I passed down the deserted front steps, and circled the house on our way to the place of meeting. Under his arm was the leather case containing the derringers, and we crossed the intervening turf without exchanging a word. I was myself in no mood for conversation, and Hardy appeared equally inclined to silence. I glanced across at him, noting how straight he stood in his well-worn uniform, how gray his hair was, and the stern manliness of his face. From head to foot he was the gentleman and the soldier. By some chance our eyes met, and, with a quick glance back at the house, he stopped suddenly.

"Galesworth," he said quietly, his glance searching my face, "I do not wish you to have any misunderstanding about my exact position in this affair. The war is not personal with me. We differ politically, and I am as loyal to the South as any one, and you wear the Blue with just as much honor as I wear the Gray. But when it comes to men I stand with the one I believe to be nearest right. Le Gaire forced this quarrel on you deliberately; he was threatening to do it before you came in. In fact, his manner ever since our capture has disgusted me, and when he finally dared to drag Billie's name into the controversy, I naturally rebelled. If there is anything I despise in this world, sir, it is a bullying duellist, and, by Gad! that's what the fellow looks like to me."

"I comprehend perfectly, Major Hardy," I said, as he paused. "You are merely doing as you would be done by."

"Well, yes, that's a partial explanation. I prefer to see fair play. Yet I am going to confess that isn't all of it. I rather like you, young man—not your damned uniform, understand—and the way you've acted toward my girl. You've been honorable and square, and, by Gad, sir, you're a gentleman. That's why I am going to see you through this affair. If all I hear is true, Le Gaire came back to me with a lie, and that is something I have never taken yet from any man."

He stood straight as an arrow, his shoulders squared, his slender form buttoned tightly in the gray uniform coat. The sun was upon his face, clear-cut, proud, aristocratic, and his eyes were the same gray-blue as his daughter's. Then he held out his hand and I clasped it gladly.

"I cannot express the gratitude I feel, Major Hardy," I faltered. "One hardly expects such kindness from an enemy."

"Not an enemy, my boy—merely a foeman. I am a West Pointer, and some of the dearest friends I have are upon the other side. But come, let us not be the last on the field."

He tried to talk with me pleasantly as we crossed the garden, and approached the stable, and I must have answered, yet my mind was elsewhere. This was all new to me, and my mood was a sober one. My father was an old-time Puritan to whom personal combat was abomination, and even now I could feel his condemnation of my course. I regretted myself the hot headedness which had led me on, but without the faintest inclination to withdraw. Yet that earlier hatred of Le Gaire had left me, and his blow no longer stung. No desire for revenge lingered, only a wish to have the whole matter concluded quickly, and a hope that we both might leave the field without serious injury. It was in this frame of mind that I turned the corner of the stable, and saw the chosen duelling ground. It was a smooth strip of turf running north and south, with the stable to the left, and a grove of trees opposite. The building cast a shadow over most of the space, and altogether it was an ideal spot, well beyond view from the windows of the house. Hardy opened the leather case, placing it upon the grass, and I saw the two derringers lying against the plush lining, deadly looking weapons, with long steel-blue barrels, and strangely carven stocks. Someway they fascinated me, and I watched while he took them up and fondled them.

"Rather pretty playthings, Galesworth," he said admiringly. "Don't see such often nowadays, but in my father's time they were a part of every gentleman's belongings. He would as soon have travelled without his coat. I've seen him practise; apparently he never took aim," he held the weapon at arm's length. "Wonderfully accurate, and the long barrel is better than any sight; just lower it this way; there's almost no recoil."

The sound of a distant voice caused him to drop the pistol back into its place, and rise to his feet. Then Le Gaire and Bell turned the corner of the stable, stopping as they perceived us standing there. The major removed his hat, his voice coolly polite.

"I believe everything is prepared, gentlemen. Captain Bell, if you will examine the weapons, we will then confer as to the word and the method of firing."

"I prefer choosing my own pistol," broke in Le Gaire bluntly, "and loading it as well."

Hardy's face flushed, his eyes hardening.

"As you please, sir," he retorted, "but I might construe those words as a reflection on my integrity."

"When a Confederate officer takes the side of a Yank," was the instant angry response, "he can hardly claim much consideration."

"Captain Le Gaire," and Hardy's voice rang, "you have enough on your hands at present without venturing to insult me, I should suppose. But don't go too far, sir."

"Gentlemen," broke in Bell excitedly, "this must not go on. Le Gaire, if you say another word, I shall withdraw entirely."

The Louisianian smiled grimly, but walked over to the weapon case, and picked up the two derringers, testing their weight, and the length of barrel. Hardy stared at him, his lips compressed.

"Well," he burst forth at last, "are you satisfied, sir?"

"I'll choose this," insolently, and dropping the other back into its place. "Where is the powder and ball?"

The major pointed without daring to speak.

"All right; don't mind me. I always load my own weapon, and just now I am anxious to shoot straight," and he looked across at me sneeringly.

If it was his purpose by all this theatrical display to affect my nerves, he failed utterly, as instead, the very expression of his face brought me back to a fighting spirit. Hardy saw this, and smiled grimly.

"Step this way a moment, Bell," he said quietly, "while we arrange details. I reckon those two game-cocks will wait until we are ready."

The two officers moved away a dozen paces and stopped in the shadow of the trees, conversing earnestly. I endeavored to keep my eyes off from Le Gaire, and remain cool. It seemed to me I saw every movement of a leaf, every dropping of a twig, yet could scarcely realize the position I was in. I was about to face that man yonder—now carefully loading his weapon—to deliberately fire upon him, and receive in return his fire. I felt as though it were a dream, a nightmare, and yet I was conscious of no fear, of no desire to avoid the ordeal. I can recall the scene now, clearly etched on my memory—the outlines of the trees silhouetted against the sky, the dark shadow of the stables, the green, level turf, the two figures—the one short and stout, the other tall and slender—talking earnestly; the deep blue of the sky overhead, the steel gleam of the derringer in the open case, and Le Gaire loading carefully, his eyes now and then glancing across at me. Then the two men wheeled with military precision, and walked back toward us. I saw Hardy take up the second pistol, and load it in silence, while Bell whispered to Le Gaire, the latter with his weapon tightly clasped. A moment later the major thrust the carved stock into my hand, and I looked at it curiously.

"Gentlemen," he said clearly, stepping to one side, "we will make this as simple as possible. You will take positions here, back to back."

The sound of his voice, the sharp ring of authority in it, awoke me to the reality as though I had received an electric shock. I felt the fierce beat of my heart, and then every muscle and nerve became steel. Without a tremor, my mind clear and alert, I advanced to the point designated, and stood erect, facing the south; an instant, and Le Gaire's shoulders were touching mine.

"Now listen closely," said Hardy, his voice sounding strangely far off, yet each word distinct. "I am to give the first word, and Bell the second. When I say 'forward' you will take ten paces—go slowly—and halt. Then Bell will count 'one, two, three'; turn at the first word, and fire at the third. If either man discharges his weapon before 'three' is spoken, he answers to us. Do you both understand?"

We answered together.

"Very well, gentlemen, are you ready?"

"I am."

"Go on."

There was a moment's pause, so still I could hear my own breathing, and the slight noise Le Gaire made as he gripped his derringer stock more tightly.

"Forward!"

I stepped out almost mechanically, endeavoring not to walk too fast, and regulating each stride as though I were measuring the field. At the end of the tenth I stopped, one foot slightly advanced for the turn, every nerve pulsing from strain. It seemed a long while before Bell's deep voice broke the silence.

"One!"

I whirled, as on a pivot, my pistol arm flung out.

"Two!"

Le Gaire stood sideways, the muzzle of his derringer covering me, his left hand supporting his elbow. I could see the scowling line between his eyes, the hateful curl of his lip, and my own weapon came up, held steady as a rock; over the blue steel barrel I covered the man's forehead just below his cap visor, the expression on his face telling me he meant to shoot to kill. I never recall feeling cooler, or more determined in my life. How still, how deathly still it was!

"Th—"

There was a thud of horses' hoofs behind the stable, Bell's half-spoken word, and the sharp bark of Le Gaire's levelled derringer. I felt the impact of the ball, and spun half around, the pressure of my finger discharging my own weapon in the air, yet kept my feet. I was shocked, dazed, but conscious I remained unhurt. Then, with a crash, three horsemen leaped the low fence, riding recklessly toward us. I seemed to see the gray-clad figures through a strange mist, which gradually cleared as they came to a sharp halt. The one in advance was a gaunt, unshaven sergeant, lifting a hand in perfunctory salute, and glancing curiously at my uniform.

"Mornin', gentlemen," he said briefly. "Is this the Hardy house—Johnston's headquarters?"

The major answered, and I noticed now he had Le Gaire gripped by the arm.

"This is the Hardy house, and I am Major Hardy, but Johnston is not here. Who are you?"

"Couriers from Chambers' column, sir. He is advancing up this pike. Where will we find Johnston?"

"Take the first road to your right, and inquire. When will Chambers be up?"

"Within four or five hours. What's going on here? A little affair?"

Hardy nodded. The sergeant sat still an instant, his eyes on me as though puzzled; then evidently concluded it was none of his business.

"Come on, boys!" he said, and with a dip of the spurs was off, the two others clattering behind. Hardy swung Le Gaire sharply around, his eyes blazing.

"You damned, sneaking coward!" he roared, forgetting everything in sudden outburst. "By Gad, Bell, this fellow is a disgrace to the uniform—you know what he did?"

"I know he fired before I got the word out," indignantly.

"The blamed curb—yes; and when those fellows rode up he tried to blurt out the whole situation. Good God, Le Gaire, aren't you even a soldier?" shaking the fellow savagely. "Haven't you ever learned what parole means? Damn you, are you totally devoid of all sense of personal honor?"

"I never gave my parole."

"You lie, you did; you are here on exactly the same terms as Bell and I—released on honor. Damned if I believe there's another man in Confederate uniform who would be guilty of so scurvy a trick. Were you hurt, Galesworth?"

"No, the ball struck my revolver case, and made me sick for a moment."

"No fault of Le Gaire's—the noise of the horses shattered his aim. Lord! how I despise such a cowardly whelp!"

He flung the man from him so violently he fell to his knees on the ground. The look of amazement on Le Gaire's face, his utter inability to comprehend the meaning of it all, or why he had thus aroused the enmity of his brother officers, gave me a sudden feeling of compassion. I stepped toward him. Perhaps he mistook my purpose, for he staggered partially erect.

"Damn you!" he yelled. "I'm fighting yet!" and flung the unloaded derringer with all the force of his arm at my face.



CHAPTER XXVI

MISS WILLIFRED SURPRISES US

The butt struck me fairly, and I went down as though felled by an ax. If I lost consciousness it could have been for scarcely more than a moment, but blood streamed into my eyes, and my head reeled giddily. Yet I knew something of what occurred, heard voices, caught dimly the movement of figures. Le Gaire ran, rounding the end of the stable, and Hardy, swearing like a trooper, clutching at his empty belt for a weapon, made an effort to follow. Bell sprang to me, lifting my head, and his face looked as white as a woman's. He appeared so frightened I endeavored to smile at him, and it must have been a ghastly effort. My voice, however, proved more reassuring.

"I'm all right," I insisted thickly. "Just tapped a little. I—I wasn't looking for anything like that."

"I should say not. Here, can you sit up? By Heavens! I hope Hardy catches him."

"He hardly will," I answered, struggling into sitting posture, a vision of the chase recurring to mind. "He was too mad to run."

Bell laughed nervously.

"I never supposed Le Gaire was that kind of a cur," he said regretfully. "I never liked the fellow, or had much to do with him. Blamed if I could understand why Miss Hardy—"

"Oh, he played nice enough with her up until the last week at least," I broke in, aroused by the name. "Le Gaire is good looking, and pleasant also when things are going his way. It's when luck is against him that he gets ugly. Besides, he had the major on his side."

"I happen to know something about that," returned Bell dryly. "It was talked over at headquarters. Le Gaire is rich, and Hardy hasn't much left, I reckon, and the captain filled him up with fairy tales. Some of them drifted about among the boys. There were others told also not quite so pleasant, which Hardy did not hear. You see, none of us cared to repeat them, after we realized Miss Willifred was interested in the man."

"You mean duelling?"

"No, that was rather mild; fellows in his regiment mostly cut him dead, and say he is yellow; generally in the hospital when there's a battle on. But Forsdyke tells the worst story—he heard it in New Orleans. It seems Le Gaire owned a young girl—a quadroon—whom he took for a mistress; then he tired of the woman, they quarrelled, and the cowardly brute turned her back into the fields, and had her whipped by his overseer. She died in three months."

"I guess it's all true, Bell," I said, and I told him of the boy. "He was our guide here last night, and it is just as well for Le Gaire the lad did not know he was present. Help me up, will you?"

I leaned on his arm heavily, but, except for the throbbing of my head, appeared to be in good enough condition. With slight assistance I walked without difficulty, and together we started for the house. At the edge of the garden Hardy appeared, still breathing heavily from his run. He stared at me, evidently relieved to find me on my feet.

"Broke the skin, my lad—a little water will make that all right. Glad it was no worse. The fellow out-ran me."

"He got away?"

"Well, the fact is, Galesworth, I do not really know where he went. The last glimpse I had he was dodging into that clump of bushes, but when I got there he was gone."

"Ran along the fence," broke in Bell, pointing. "You couldn't see him for the vines. See, here's his tracks—sprinting some, too."

We traced them easily as long as we found soft ground, but the turf beyond left no sign. Yet he could not have turned to the left, or Bell and I would have seen him. The fellow evidently knew this, yet if he ran to the right it would take him to the house. It hardly seemed possible he would go there, but he had been a guest there for some time, and probably knew the place well; perhaps realized he would be safer within—where no one would expect him to be—than on the road. This was the conception which gradually came to me, but the others believed he had gone straight ahead, seeking the nearest Confederate outpost. Able to walk alone by this time, I went in through the back door, and bathed my face at the sink, leaving Hardy and Bell to search for further signs of the fugitive.

As I washed I thought rapidly over the situation. Le Gaire knew that Chambers' force would be along the pike within a few hours—probably long before the appearance of any Federal advance in the neighborhood, as he was unaware that I had sent back a courier. The house was the very last place in which we would seek for him, and the easiest place to attain. Once inside, stowed away in some unused room, he could wait the approach of Chambers' troops, escape easily, and become a hero. The whole trick fitted in with the man's type of mind. And he could have come in the same way I had, sneaking through the unguarded kitchen—why, in the name of Heaven, had Miles neglected to place a guard there?—and then up the servants' stairs. I dried my face on a towel, rejoicing that the derringer blow had left little damage, and opened the door leading to the upper story. It was a narrow stairway, rather dark, but the first thing to catch my eye was a small clod of yellow dirt on the second step, and this was still damp—the foot from which it had fallen must have passed within a very short time. I had the fellow—had him like a rat in a trap. Oh, well, there was time enough, and I closed the door and locked it.

I talked with the sergeant, and had him send Foster to watch the kitchen door, and detail a couple of men for cooks, with orders to hurry up breakfast. Miles had seen nothing of Le Gaire, and when Hardy and Bell returned, they acknowledged having discovered no trace of the fugitive. I let them talk, saying little myself, endeavoring to think out the peculiar situation, and determine what I had better do. Already there was heavy cannonading off to the right, but at considerable distance. The battle was on, and might sweep this way before many hours, yet I could no longer doubt the complete withdrawal of Confederate troops from the neighborhood. Not a gray-jacket or flash of steel was visible, and everything about was a scene of peace. Yet when Chambers came this house would hardly escape without an overhauling. Of course he might not come this way, for Johnston could easily despatch a courier to advise another road, yet probably the line of march would not be changed. Should I wait, or withdraw my little force, at least as far as the shelter of the ravine? I cared nothing about retaining the prisoners, indeed was anxious to release both Hardy and Bell. Nor was I any longer worried about Le Gaire—especially his relations with Miss Willifred. I could trust the major to relate the story of the past hour to his daughter, and the captain would scarcely venture to face her again. It seemed to me we ought to go, as it would be no service to our cause to retain the house. However there was no hurry; we had ample time in which to breakfast, and—and, well I wanted to see Billie again, to leave behind me a better impression. I gave the major the key to her room, and asked him to call her for the morning meal, already nearly ready. She came down a few moments later, freshly dressed, and looking as though she had enjoyed some sleep. Her father must have given her some inkling of the situation, for she greeted me pleasantly, although with a certain constraint in manner which left me ill at ease.

Our breakfast passed off very nicely, the food abundant and well cooked, although we were compelled to wait upon ourselves. I asked Miles to join us, but he preferred messing with the men, and so the four of us sat at table alone. As though by mutual consent we avoided all reference to the war, or our present situation, conversation drifting into a discussion of art and literature. I realized later that Miss Willifred had adroitly steered it that way, but if it was done to test me, she could scarcely have chosen a better topic. I had come from the senior class of a great college into the army, and was only too delighted to take part again in cultured conversation. Bell had taken an art course, and Miss Hardy had apparently read widely, and the discussion became animated, with frequent clashes of opinion. I was happy to know that I surprised the lady by the extent of my information, and her flushed cheeks and brightening eyes were ample reward. The major said little, yet when he occasionally spoke it was to reveal that he was a man of unusual learning.

I shall recall the details of that meal as long as I live—the peculiar conditions, and the faces of those present. It was all so little like war, the only suggestion of conflict the uniforms we wore, and the dull reverberation of that distant cannonading. For the time, at least, we forgot we were upon the very verge of a battle, and that we were politically enemies. Prisoners were in the basement beneath, guards were patrolling the hall without, yet we laughed and joked, with never a reference to the great conflict in which all present bore part. Of course much of this was but veneer, and back of repartee and well-told story, we were intent upon our own problems. With me, now that I had decided upon my plans, everything centred upon Miss Willifred. I would search the house for Le Gaire, endeavor to have one word with her alone, and then retire to a place of greater safety with my men. The quicker I might complete these arrangements the better, and I could trust those present with some knowledge of my intention.

"Gentlemen," I said, as the party was preparing to rise, "just a moment. I am going to ask you to respect your parole for only a very short time longer. Of course this does not include Miss Hardy as she has refused all pledges to me. So soon as my men complete their breakfast, and a few details are looked after, we shall withdraw in the direction of our own lines. Naturally I have no desire to be captured by Chambers. I am merely going to request that you remain within doors until we depart. After that you may release the prisoners, and rejoin your commands."

The eyes of the two men met, and the major replied:

"Certainly, Lieutenant, we have no reason to complain."

"And Miss Hardy?"

"Oh, I will answer for her."

"That is hardly necessary, papa, as I will answer for myself," and her eyes met mine across the table. "I was angry last night, Lieutenant Galesworth, and unreasonable. If you will accept my parole now I give it gladly."

I bowed with a sudden choking of the throat, and Hardy chuckled.

"A very graceful surrender—hey, Bell? By Gad, this has been quite a night for adventure. Fact of it is, Galesworth, I'm mighty grateful to you for the whole affair, and, I reckon, Billie is also."

She arose to her feet, pausing an instant with her hand upon the back of the chair.

"Lieutenant Galesworth has merely made apparent to you what I had discovered some time ago," she said quietly. "I am sure he needs no thanks from me—perhaps might not appreciate them. I am going to my room, papa, until—until the Yankees leave."

"An unreconstructed Rebel," he exclaimed, yet clearly surprised. "Why, I thought you and Galesworth were great friends."

"Has he made that claim?"

"Why—eh—no. It was what Le Gaire said."

"Oh! I should suppose that by this time you would rather doubt the statements of that individual. Lieutenant Galesworth probably understands that we are acquaintances, and—enemies."

She left the room, without so much as glancing at me, Hardy calling after her,

"I'll come up as soon as I smoke a cigar with Bell."

The door closed, and his eyes met mine.

"What the devil is the trouble, my boy? That wasn't like Billie; I never knew her to harbor an unkind thought in her life. Have you done something to anger her?"

"Not to my knowledge, Major," I answered honestly. "Perhaps I was harsh last night, but I merely intended to be firm. This is all a great surprise to me."

He shook his head, and the two men left the room. I waited until certain they were safely out of the way. I was perplexed, hurt, by the girl's words and action. What cause had I given her for treating me with such open contempt? Surely not my avowal of love, however inopportune that might have been, nor my holding her prisoner. Could something have occurred of which I knew nothing? Could Le Gaire have poisoned her mind against me with some ingenious lie? It was all too hazy, too improbable, for me to consider seriously—but she must explain before we went away. With this in mind I passed into the hall, and began to ascend the stairs.



CHAPTER XXVII

THE BODY OF LE GAIRE

Miles had stationed a sentry just inside the front door, but he was the only one of our men visible, nearly all of the others being at breakfast in the kitchen. I felt no need of any help however, for Le Gaire was unarmed, and not of a nature to make serious resistance. Besides, if I was mistaken as to his hiding place in the house I preferred making the discovery alone. My exploration during the night had made me familiar with the arrangement of the front rooms, but not the extension to the rear. I stopped, in the silence, at the head of the stairs, to glance about, and decide where I had better begin. Miss Hardy's door was closed, even the transom lowered, and I instantly decided not to disturb her until the very last. Yet I was soldier enough to take the other rooms in rotation, realizing the danger of leaving an enemy in my rear. These were soon disposed of, although I made a close search, disarranging beds, delving into closets, and leaving no nook or corner big enough to conceal a man, unrevealed. I endeavored to accomplish all this quietly, yet must have made some noise, for as I rolled back a bed in the third room entered, I heard the door creak and sprang to my feet to confront Billie. I hardly know which was the more startled, for the girl staggered back, one hand thrown out.

"You! Oh, I thought—" she drew her breath quickly.

"You thought what?"

"Oh, nothing—only I heard the noise, and—and wondered who it could be." She looked about at the confusion. "What—what are you doing? Hunting for some one?"

"A needle in a haystack," I answered, suddenly suspicious that she might know something of the fugitive. "Will you help me search?"

"I—I hardly appreciate your humor," haughtily. "Is—is it Captain Le Gaire?"

"Why do you suspect that, Miss Willifred? Is it because you imagine the man may be here?"

"Because I know he got away; because I know your feeling toward him, your effort to take his life."

"You know! What is all this?" so stunned I could scarcely articulate. "Surely your father—"

"I know of no reason why my father should be dragged into this affair."

"But he was present; he surely told you what occurred."

"He said the two of you went out to fight; that it was a dishonorable affair. He gave me no particulars, and I asked none—I already knew what had taken place."

"Then you have seen Le Gaire since—is that so?"

She turned her back toward me, and stepped into the hall. The action was defiant, almost insulting.

"Miss Willifred, I insist on an answer."

"Indeed," carelessly, "to what?"

"To my question—have you seen Le Gaire since?"

"I refuse to tell you."

It was an instant before I found my voice, or could control my words. This was all most confusing, and yet the light was coming. Here was the secret of her sudden dislike for me. Her hand was already upon the knob of her own door, and she did not so much as glance back. What could I say? What ought I to say? Beyond doubt, uncertain as to her real feelings toward Le Gaire, Hardy had not revealed to her the fellow's disgraceful action. Some way, his brief explanation had merely served to confirm her previous opinion that the captain had been the one injured—such an impression she could have derived only from Le Gaire. It was equally clear I could not explain. She would scarcely believe any effort to defend myself. Why should she think me capable of a dastardly act? Why believe Le Gaire's hasty lie, and refuse me even a hearing? The thought left me so indignant that for the moment I felt indifferent even to her good opinion.

"Well, Miss Hardy," I said at last, conscious my voice trembled, "I am going to find this man if he is in the house, even if the search takes me to your own room."

"Then begin there," and she stood aside, the door flung open. "It must require great bravery to hunt down an unarmed man."

"I only know you are going to regret those words when you learn the truth. There is a mistake here, but one others must rectify. Your actions merely confirm my belief that Le Gaire sought refuge in this building. I am going to know before I withdraw my men."

She was not quite so defiant, not quite so certain, yet she did not move.

"Will you tell me—has he been here?"

"Why do you want to know?"

I hesitated, not really knowing myself, suddenly made aware that I had no true purpose in the search. My embarrassment confirmed her suspicion.

"Revenge, wasn't it?" scornfully. "A desire to complete the work begun yonder. I'll answer if you wish me to. Captain Le Gaire came here to me wounded, and seeking shelter. I helped him as I would any Confederate soldier. But he is not here now—see, the room is empty; yes, search it for yourself."

It was useless arguing, useless denying—the girl was in a state of mind which no assertions of mine could combat.

"Then where is he now?"

"I have no means of knowing—safely away from the house, I hope. I—I left him here when I went down stairs; when I came back he was gone."

"And you say he was wounded?"

"Certainly—you ought to know, the blow of an assassin, not a soldier."

She looked straight at me, her cheeks red, her eyes burning with indignation. Then, as though she could bear my presence no longer, she swept into the room, and closed the door in my face. It was an action of such utter contempt that I actually staggered back, grasping the rail of the stair. What in the name of Heaven had gained possession of the girl? What infernal lie had been told her? By all the gods, I would find Le Gaire, and choke the truth out of him. My head ached yet with the blow he had dealt me, but this hurt worse. I had a reason now for running the man down. Wherever he had gone, even into the Confederate camp, I vowed I would follow. But first the house: I could conceive of no way in which he could have gotten out—there was a guard in front, and I had locked the rear door. I went at the task deliberately, coolly, determined to overlook nothing. There was something of value at stake now, and my mind was as busy as my hands and eyes. How did he ever succeed in getting to Billie? I had locked her door, and taken away the key. It was not until I invaded the last room on the main floor that I solved this riddle—the two apartments formed a suite with connecting door between. However he was not there now, and all that remained to search was the servants' ell.

The hallway narrowed, and was lower by a single step, the back stairs at the left. There was no window, and with all the doors closed, I could see down only a portion of the way. The hallway itself was gloomy, the shade of the rear window being closely drawn. This, with the stillness all about, enabled me to hear the voices of the men in the kitchen below, and to become aware that the firing, sounding from a distance since early morning, seemed now much closer at hand. It was not altogether artillery any longer, but I could plainly distinguish the volleys of musketry. What could this signify? Were the Confederates being forced back? If so would the Hardy house be caught in the maelstrom of retreat? The possibility of such a result only made haste more imperative. There were three doors at the right, and two opposite. I opened these cautiously, half expecting Le Gaire to dash out, with any weapon he might have secured, desperate enough to fight hard. But nothing occurred, the rooms showed no sign of having been lately occupied. I was at the one next to the last when a board creaked somewhere behind me, and I wheeled about instantly, and ran back to the head of the stairs. There was nothing visible, and a glance down the front hall proved it also deserted—only the door of Miss Willifred's room stood slightly ajar. She was watching me then, fearful lest the fellow had failed to get away. This discovery added to my anxiety, and my anger. He should not get away—not if I could prevent it—until he confessed to her the truth. I ran back into the ell, fearful now that he had escaped through a window, yet determined to examine that last room. There was a rag carpet along the back hall, and, in the semi-darkness, I tripped, falling heavily forward, striking the floor with a crash, my revolver flying from my hand, and hitting the side wall. I was on my knees in an instant, thoughtless of everything except that I had come into contact with a body. The shock numbed me, nor could my fingers alone solve the mystery. I sprang erect, and threw open the nearest side door, permitting the light to stream in. Then I saw the man's face, upturned, lifeless—the face of Gerald Le Gaire. It seemed to me I could not move, could not even breathe, as I stared down at the motionless form. Then I touched his wrist, feeling for a pulse which had ceased to beat. A noise at my back caused me to start, and glance behind. Billie stood at the end of the narrow hall.

"What is it? Have—have you killed him?"

I whirled, facing her, indignant at the words, and yet understanding as swiftly the reason for her suspicions.

"It is Captain Le Gaire. I have just found him lying here."

"Found him! Yes, but not lying there; I heard the noise, the fall of his body. Is—is he dead?"

She stood grasping the stair-rail, shrinking back from closer approach, her white face horror-stricken. I drew a quick breath, fairly quivering under the sting of her words.

"Yes, he is dead, Miss Hardy," I said, knowing I must end the suspense, "but not by my hand. I tripped and fell in the darkness, causing the noise you heard. I am going to ask you to return to your room; you can be of no service here. I will have your father and Captain Bell help me with the body."

She never moved, her eyes on my face.

"Then—then will you permit my father to come to me?"

"Certainly—perhaps we will know then how this occurred."

"Is that your revolver lying there?"

I had forgotten the weapon, but perceived it now, on the floor just beyond Le Gaire's head.

"Yes, it was dropped when I fell," I took a step toward her. "You will go back, will you not?"

She seemed to shrink from my approach, and moved backward, still facing me, until she came to her own door. There she remained a moment, clinging to the knob, but as I emerged into the full light of the front hall, she stepped into the room, and closed the door. Some way, her action hurt me worse than any words could have done, yet I walked past to the stairs in silence, and called to the guard below.

Miles came up with the two Confederates, and a dozen words of explanation sufficed. Together we picked up the body, bore it into a near-by room, and placed it upon the bed. The man had been struck back of the ear, apparently by the butt of a revolver or the stock of a gun, the skull crushed. Death had been instantaneous; possibly he never knew what hit him. We examined the wound, and then looked into each others' faces utterly unable to account for the condition.

"By Gad, I don't see how he ever got that," said Hardy. "Nor this ugly cut here on the forehead. What do you make out of it, Galesworth?"

I shook my head, thoroughly mystified.

"I've told you all I know; he was lying there in the open when I found him—there was nothing he could have struck against in falling."

"That was a blow struck him," insisted the sergeant, "either by a square-handled pistol, or a carbine stock. I've seen that sorter thing before; but who the hell ever hit him?"

No one attempted to answer. Then I said,

"The only thing I have noticed which might be a clue is this: when I first came in through the kitchen I discovered a clod of fresh clay dirt on the back stairs. I supposed it had dropped from Le Gaire's boots. But there's no sign of yellow clay on his boots now. It must have been some one else."

"Trailin' the poor devil," ejaculated Miles. "But who was he? An' where is he now?"

None attempted a guess, looking blankly into each others' faces, and down upon the ghastly features of the dead man. We were all accustomed to death, and in terrible form, but this was different, this held a horror all its own. I could hear the heavy breathing, we stood so motionless.

"Major Hardy,"—and it was like sacrilege to break the silence,—"we can never clear the mystery standing here. I've examined every room on this floor, and there is not so much as a rat in any of them. Whoever the murderer was, he has either got away, or is hidden on some other floor—is there an attic?"

"Yes, but with no stairs; the only way to get there is by the kitchen roof. What do you propose to do?"

"Take a moment and see if I can think it out," I said, drawing a sheet up over the dead face. "There must be some simple way to account for all this if we can only get on the right trail. Come, gentlemen."

We passed out together, and stopped in front of the closed door. The firing without was growing so much heavier that all noticed it, Bell striding to the end of the hall, and thrusting his head out of the window. Still it was not close enough as yet to be alarming, and my thought was upon other things.

"Major, I wish you would go in and speak to your daughter," I said. "I told her you would come and tell her all you knew."

I watched him cross to the door, knock, and enter.



CHAPTER XXVIII

I FORCE BILLIE TO LISTEN

There was a narrow settee against the wall, and I sat down upon it, to think and to wait for Hardy's return. Eager as I was to discover the cause of Le Gaire's death, yet it seemed almost more important that Billie be brought to an understanding of conditions. Her father could scarcely fail this time to relate in full the details of our encounter, and the girl would realize at once her injustice toward me. I hardly knew what I dared hope as a result, but she was impulsive, warm-hearted, and would surely endeavor to make amends. Bell came back from the front of the house.

"Some fight going on out there," indicating the north and east, "and seems to be drifting this way."

"Our fellows are driving you," I replied. "Have been noticing that all the morning; looks as if your left and centre were giving way."

"Wait until Chambers gets up, and you'll hear another tune," his pride touched. "What's the sergeant doing?"

"Evidently going to get a look at the attic." Then, deciding quickly,—"I am going to turn you all loose, and try to get back to our lines, as soon as we can gain some understanding of this death mystery, Bell. It looks as though the battle would end up somewhere about here, and I can hardly expect to fight the entire Confederate army with ten men and a sergeant. It's a dignified retreat for me. Where now?"

"To help your man. I am crazy to get away. I'm a soldier, Galesworth, and they're wondering out there why I am not in my place. The earlier you say go, the better pleased I'll be."

He clambered out the window to where Miles was perched on the steep roof, and I was left alone, with no noise in my ears but the continuous firing, the reverberations already jarring the house. I found it difficult to collect my thoughts, or to reason out the situation. Everything had occurred so swiftly, so unexpectedly, as to leave me confused—the surging of battle our way, the affair with Le Gaire, his strange death, the thought which had taken possession of Billie, the skulking murderer hid somewhere within the house—all combined to leave me in a state of perplexity. I should have withdrawn my men before daylight; there was no sign of any Federal troops advancing up the ravine, and probably my messenger had failed to get through. It looked as though we were left to our fate. Every moment counted, and yet I could not leave until this mystery was made clear, and Miss Willifred convinced of my innocence. I was so involved in the tangled threads that to run away was almost a confession, and must risk remaining, moment by moment, in hope some discovery would make it all plain. Yet the longer I thought the less I understood. Le Gaire had come to Billie wounded—but how? His very condition had appealed to her as a woman. She had pitied, sympathized, and he had taken advantage of her natural compassion to falsely charge me with the whole trouble. How far he had gone, what foul accusation he had made, could not be guessed, yet he had sufficiently poisoned her mind against me. Then circumstances had combined to make the case still blacker. Doubtless to her it was already conclusive. I had been seeking the fellow alone, revolver in hand. She had overheard what must have sounded like a struggle, and there was the dead man, his skull crushed by a blow. Everything pointed directly toward me from her point of view—motive, opportunity. Who else could it be? Even I, anxious as I was, could not answer that question. I had seen no one, was not aware the dead man had an enemy about the place, could discover no clue except that bit of damp clay on the stairs. Yes, and my own boots were stained with it also—only I knew that lump never came from mine. These thoughts swept across my mind in lightning-like flashes, but brought no solution to the problem. Then Major Hardy suddenly appeared, closing the door, and mopping his face with a handkerchief. His eyes met mine.

"By Gad, Galesworth," he began, "woman is the hardest creature to comprehend on this foot-stool. I've been trying to understand them for fifty years, and am still in the primary class. You'd never have thought that girl of mine cared anything for Le Gaire to hear her talk last night, yet, now the fellow is dead, she is crazy. Lying in there on the bed, crying, and won't say a word. Only thing she asked me when I came in was what he had been killed with. I said it looked as if he had been struck from behind with a pistol butt, and then she collapsed. Couldn't get a thing out of her—just cried, and begged me to go away; said she'd be all right, if left alone. Blamed if I know what to do with a woman like that—over such a fellow as Le Gaire too! By Gad, I supposed Billie had more sense. When she wouldn't talk to me I proposed sending you in to explain matters. You should have seen her eyes, Galesworth, through the tears. Mad! I never waited to hear what she was trying to say. I reckoned the best thing to do was to leave her alone a while."

"You explained nothing?"

"No—what was there to explain?"

"Major," I said, every nerve braced for conflict, "with your permission I am going in there and have a talk with your daughter—may I?"

"Certainly, as far as I am concerned, but I don't envy you the job."

"I'll assume all risk, but I am not willing to leave her like this. Perhaps I understand the situation better than you do. You stay where I can call you if necessary, and look after the search for whoever got Le Gaire. Bell and Miles are out on the roof trying for the attic. I won't be gone long."

I have gone into battle with less trepidation than I approached that door, but never with greater determination to bear myself as became a man. Billie was going to know the truth just as clearly as I could tell it to her. I could not convince myself it was love for Le Gaire which had so affected her. I doubted if she had ever loved him. The fellow had played upon her sympathy, her pity, and circumstances had conspired to cause her to believe I was his murderer. This was amply sufficient to account for her feeling of horror, her evident desire to escape further contact with me. Hardy had been blind and blundering—had made things worse, rather than better; now I must see what I could do. I rapped at the panel, and thought I heard a faint response. A moment later I stood within, and had closed the door behind me. She was on a couch at the opposite side of the room, but arose to her feet instantly, her face white, one hand sweeping back the strands of ruffled hair.

"You!" she exclaimed incredulously. "Why have you come here? I supposed it would be my father."

"Major Hardy told me how you were feeling; that he could do nothing for you—"

"Did he understand I wished to confer with you?"

"No, but—"

"You decided to invade my room without permission. Do you not think you have persecuted me quite long enough?"

"Why do you say persecuted?"

"Because your acts have assumed that form, Lieutenant Galesworth. You persist in seeking me after I have requested to be left alone."

"Miss Hardy," and my eyes met hers, "has it ever occurred to you that you may be the one in the wrong, the one mistaken? I am simply here to explain, to tell you the truth, and compel you to do justice."

"Indeed! how compel? With the revolver in your belt?"

"No; merely by a statement of facts, to be proven, if necessary, by the evidence of your father and Captain Bell. I am not asking you to believe me, but surely they have no occasion for falsifying. Why have you not listened to them?"

"Listened!" startled by my words. "I would have listened, but they have said nothing. They have seemed to avoid all reference to what has occurred. I thought they were trying to spare me pain, humiliation. Is there something concealed, something I do not know?"

"If I may judge from your words and action the entire truth has been kept from you," and I advanced a step or two nearer. "I am not the one to come with an explanation, but your father has failed, and I am not willing to go away until this matter is made clear. Whether you believe, or not, you must listen."

She stared at me, still trembling from head to foot, and yet there was a different expression in her eyes—puzzled doubt.

"You—you will have much to explain," she said slowly. "If—if I were you I should hardly attempt it."

"Which must mean, Miss Hardy, that you are already so prejudiced a fair hearing is impossible. Yet I thought you, at least, a friend."

A deep flush swept into her cheeks, to vanish as quickly.

"You had reason to think so, and I was," earnestly. "I was deceived in your character, and trusted you implicitly. It seems as though I am destined to be the constant victim of deceit. I can keep faith in no one. It is hard to understand you, Lieutenant Galesworth. How do you dare to come here and face me, after all that has occurred?"

She was so serious, so absolutely truthful, that for the moment I could only stare at her.

"You mean after what you said to me last night? But I am not here to speak of love."

"No," bitterly. "That is all over with, forgotten. In the light of what has happened since, the very memory is an insult. Oh, you hurt me so! Cannot you see how this interview pains me! Won't you go—go now, and leave me in peace."

"But surely you will not drive me away unheard!—not refuse to learn the truth."

"The truth! It is the truth I already know, the truth which hurts."

"Nevertheless you are going to hear my story. If I have done a wrong to you, or any one, I want it pointed out, so it may be made right. I shall not leave this room, nor your presence, until I have uttered my last word of explanation. I should be a coward to turn away. Will you sit down and listen? You need not even speak until I am done."

She looked at me helplessly, her eyes full of questioning, yet, when I extended a hand, she drew back quickly.

"Yes—I—I suppose I must."

She sank back upon the couch, these words barely audible, and I drew a deep breath, hardly knowing where to begin.

"I am a Federal officer, Miss Hardy, and my uniform is no passport to your favor, yet that is no reason you should be unjust. I do not think I have ever been guilty of but one ungentlemanly act toward you, and that was unavoidable—I mean listening to your conversation with Captain Le Gaire."

She shuddered, and gave utterance to a little cry.

"I loved you; with all my heart I loved you," I went on swiftly, driven by a sudden rush of passion. "What you said then gave me a right to tell you so."

"And was it because I was unwilling to listen that—that you did what you did later?" she broke in hastily.

"Did later! You mean that I consented to meet Le Gaire?"

"Yes—that you compelled him to fight you; that you—Oh, God! Why bring this all up again?"

"Merely because nothing occurred of which I am ashamed. Without doubt it was my love for you which caused the trouble. But I was not the aggressor. Did you suppose otherwise? Le Gaire deliberately struck me across the face."

She rose again to her feet, her cheeks blazing.

"It was the answer of a gentleman to an insult given the woman he was to marry," proudly.

"The answer to an insult! What insult?"

"You know; I shall not demean myself to repeat the words."

So this was what she had been told! Well, I could block that lie with a sentence.

"Miss Hardy," I asked soberly, "are you aware that your father refused to act for Captain Le Gaire, but went to the field as my second?"

"No," her whole expression indicative of surprise. "Impossible!"

"But it was not impossible, for it was true. Captain Bell had to be send for to second Le Gaire, and he did it under protest. Do you imagine your father would have taken my part if I had uttered one word reflecting upon you?"

She attempted to speak, but failed, and I took advantage of the silence.

"Major Hardy is in the hall, and will corroborate all I say. Perhaps I ought not to attempt my own defence, but this misunderstanding is too grave to continue. There is too much at stake in your life and mine. From what you have already said it is evident you have been deceived—probably that deception did not end merely with the commencement of the quarrel."

"Did—did Major Hardy truly second you?" she interrupted, apparently dazed. "I—I can hardly comprehend."

"He did; he even volunteered to do so. Le Gaire charged you with being unduly intimate with me, and your father resented his words. The man began threatening as soon as I entered the room, and finally struck me across the face, daring me to an encounter. I am no duellist; this was my first appearance in that role; but I could never have retained my self-respect and refused to meet him."

"You—you forced him to accept pistols?"

"In a way, yes. Your father convinced him I was an expert swordsman, and consequently he chose derringers, believing they would be to his advantage. The truth is, I am not particularly skilled in the use of either."

She looked at me a moment as though she would read clear down into the depths of my soul; then she leaned over against the head of the couch, her face hidden in her arm.

"I—I will listen," she said falteringly, "to all you have to say."



CHAPTER XXIX

THE MYSTERY DEEPENS

It was a task I distinctly shrank from, but could not escape.

"Shall I not call in your father, and ask him to relate the story?"

"No; I would much rather hear it from you—tell me everything."

My heart throbbed at these simple words, and the thought suddenly occurred that possibly it was her loss of faith in me, rather than the death of Le Gaire which had brought such pain. If she had actually believed all the man had told her, it must have proven a shock, yet how could I now best counteract his story? It was not my nature to speak ill of any one, least of all the dead, but I must justify myself, win back her respect. Only the whole truth could accomplish this. There was a hassock nearby and I dropped down upon it. She did not move, nor turn her face toward me.

I began with my orders to report at General Grant's headquarters, so as to thus make clear to her the reasons bringing me to the Hardy plantation. I told about our night trip up the ravine, explained my ignorance of who occupied the house to which I had been, despatched, and how circumstances compelled me to remain concealed on the balcony, and thus overhear her conversation with her father and Captain Le Gaire. I even referred to our quadroon guide, and then it was she suddenly turned her face toward me.

"A quadroon—and claiming to have once lived here? Who could that be?"

"A servant slave of Le Gaire's."

"Oh, yes! Charles. I remember now—he ran away."

Somehow she seemed more like the Billie of old now, and I went on with greater confidence, barely touching on my sudden determination to prevent her wedding, the capture of the house, and our subsequent conversation together. As I approached the unpleasant interview in the parlor she sat up, brushing back her hair, and with questioning eyes on mine, exhibited the deepest interest. I told the rest, word by word, act by act, determined to thus impress upon her the full truth of the narrative. I could tell by her aroused interest that I was succeeding, while her questions gave me some inkling as to what she had been previously led to believe. After my account of the duel and Le Gaire's escape I stopped to ask,

"Miss Billie, do you believe all this?"

"Oh, I must! You surely would not dare say what you have, unless certain my father would sustain you."

"But is it hard to believe?"

"Yes and no. I—I wish to believe, because—well, because it is so disagreeable to lose confidence in any one who has been esteemed as a friend. Perhaps I am too loyal, too easily convinced. But—but I was told such a different story, and it seemed so real, and every fact with which I was acquainted appeared to confirm it. If all you tell me now is true, Lieutenant Galesworth, I hardly know how I dare look you in the face."

"Forget that, and let us understand fully. Will you tell me all,—how you came to protect Le Gaire, and what it was he told you?"

She was silent, her eyes shaded, and I waited, wondering if she meant to speak.

"Perhaps if you consent to do this," I urged, "it may help to clear up the mystery of his death."

"You have not told me about that."

"I know little beyond the discovery of the body," gravely, "and should prefer to understand all that passed between you before going on with my own tale. I have taken you already as far as I have witnesses to corroborate me—beyond that you will have to trust my word alone."

Her long lashes uplifted, the blue-gray eyes looking directly into my own.

"What is all that firing?" she questioned. "The house fairly quakes; is it a battle?"

"Yes; the contending forces have been gradually drawing nearer ever since daylight. The Confederate lines are being forced back, and when Chambers arrives in support this point may prove the centre of struggle. I am eager to get away, Miss Billie, to protect the lives of my men, but I could not leave with you feeling as you did—believing me a coward, a murderer."

"But I am ashamed to tell you—ashamed to confess I could ever have thought it true."

I touched her hand with my fingers, and she did not shrink away, or seem to observe the action.

"I am bound to learn sometime—wouldn't you rather tell me yourself?"

"Yes, for, perhaps, I can make it seem less bad, more natural. I was angry when you left me, locked here in this room. I was indignant at what you had said and done, and did not realize the military necessity for making me a prisoner. I resented your taking everything so for granted, and—and I believe I almost hated you. I know I lay down here on the couch and cried myself to sleep. I could not have slept long, and when I awoke my mind still retained its bitterness. I began to wonder what I should do; how I could turn the tables against you. I was not really locked in, because this side door into the next room had been left unfastened. Finally I decided on a desperate venture. There were horses in the stable belonging to the captured cavalrymen, and if I could steal out of the house, and reach the Confederate lines, a rescuing party could be guided back here. The idea more and more took possession of me, and at last I mustered sufficient courage to make the attempt. I slipped on an old riding skirt, and stole out quietly through that other room into the hall. I thought I could get down the back stairs unobserved, and then out through the kitchen. I had no idea you had placed a guard back there in the ell until I saw him."

"A guard!" I broke in. "There was no guard up here."

"But there was—just beyond the head of the stairs. One of your men too, for his jacket was pinned up, without buttons. I was close enough to see that."

"That's strange; I gave no such orders, and do not believe Miles did. Did you see the fellow's face?"

"Only in shadow—he was young, and without a beard."

"Go on," I said, realizing that here was an important discovery, "I will ask the sergeant."

"Finding the passage blocked I returned to my own room, but left this door ajar. The disappointment left me angrier than ever, but helpless. I could only sit down and wait, knowing nothing of what was going on below. I finally heard the two shots out by the stable, and went to the window. Three horsemen rode past the corner of the house, and then, a moment or two later, I saw a man running along, crouching behind the fence. I could not tell who he was, only he had on a gray uniform, and he suddenly turned, and made for the house. Once he tripped and fell, and got up with his hands to his head as though hurt. That was the last glimpse I had of him from the window. Perhaps five minutes later I heard some one moving in the next room. I supposed it was the guard prowling about, and kept still. Then the door was pushed open, and Captain Le Gaire came in."

"But where was the guard then?"

"I don't know. I asked, but the captain had seen no one. I cannot tell you how the man looked, acted, or exactly what he said. The first glance at him awoke my sympathy, before he had spoken a word, for his uniform was torn and covered with dirt, and his face all blood from a wound on the temple. He was trembling like a child, and could hardly talk. I washed his wound out, and bound it up before I even asked a question. By that time he was himself again, and began to explain. Is it necessary for me to repeat what he said?"

"I would rather you would; don't you think I ought to know?"

"I suppose you had, but—but it is not a pleasant task. I could not help but believe what he said, for he told it so naturally; he—he almost seemed to regret the necessity, and—and I never once dreamed he would lie to me. Then father said just enough to apparently confirm it all, and—and other things happened."

"Yes, I know," understanding her embarrassment. "You mustn't think I blame you. You have known me such a little while."

"But I should have sought after the truth, nevertheless, for I certainly had no cause to believe you capable of so cowardly an action. I—surely knew you better than that. But this was what he said: that you came into the room below promising to release the others, but threatening to take him prisoner with you into the Federal lines. He protested, and—and then you referred to me in a way he could not stand, and blows were exchanged. As a result he dared you to fight him, and you couldn't refuse before your own men, although you endeavored to back out. That you chose pistols for weapons, and compelled their acceptance. On the field, he said, you fired before the word was spoken, and while he was still lying on the ground, shocked by the bullet, you flung the derringer at him, cutting his forehead; then drew your own revolver. Unarmed, believing he was to be murdered, he turned and ran."

"And you actually believed all this of me?"

"Why," bewildered, "he was a soldier, and my father's friend. How could I imagine he would run without cause? His story sounded true, as he told it, and he was hurt."

"He must have got that when he fell—his head struck something. And is that all?"

"Yes; only we talked about how he might get away. He was here until father came for me, and then stepped into the other room. When I came back, he had gone. A little later I heard you searching the rooms, and went out into the hall believing it might be he."

"You saw nothing more of him?"

"No."

"Nor of the man you mistook for a guard?"

She shook her head positively.

"Only the once." Then, after hesitating, her eyes uplifted to mine." Lieutenant Galesworth, you did not encounter Captain Le Gaire alive in the hall?"

"I never saw him alive after he ran from the field. The noise you heard was when I tripped and fell, my revolver dropping to the floor. It was then I discovered his dead body. You will believe this?"

"Yes," and she extended her hand. "I have been very wrong; you must forgive me. But how could he have been killed? Who could have had a motive?"

"Had Le Gaire no enemies?"

"Not to my knowledge. I know little of his life, yet surely there could be no one here—in this house—who would deliberately seek to kill him. No one would have opportunity except one of your own men."

I confess it appeared that way to me also, and the fact only served to make the mystery more baffling. I knew personally every soldier under my command, and was certain no man among them had ever so much as seen Le Gaire previous to the night before. They could have no reason to attempt his life, no grudge against him. Yet every Confederate was under guard, and the fellow Billie had seen in the hall wore our uniform, even to the detached buttons—she had noted that. If the man had been on guard, merely performing his military duty, there would have been no secrecy; he would have reported the affair long before this. But Le Gaire had been murdered, treacherously killed, without doubt struck from behind, and there must be some reason, some cause for the act.

"I understand this no better than you," I admitted finally. "I shall have the house thoroughly searched, and every one of my men examined. But I am afraid we shall be obliged to leave before the mystery is solved. Hear those guns! It almost seems as though the fighting was already within sight of the house." I stepped across to the window and looked out. "However it is all to the north and east, and there is still opportunity for us to get safely away into the ravine. I cannot understand why our forces have not taken advantage of it—in that way they could have struck the enemy a stunning blow on the left. There's a blunder somewhere. But we can hold the house no longer; only before I go I must know that you believe in me."

"I do," earnestly.

"And I am going to clinch that faith," opening the door into the hall. "Major Hardy, just a moment."

He turned back from the open window, his face flushed with excitement.

"The stragglers are beginning to show up," he exclaimed pointing, "and the boys are fighting like hell out there beyond those woods. And—and see that dust cloud over yonder; by all the gods, it will be Chambers coming up at last!"

"Then hurry here; I want to ask you just one question for your daughter's sake: Were you my second in the duel this morning?"

"Certainly."

"Why didn't you tell me, papa? Why didn't you explain that Lieutenant Galesworth was not to blame?"

"Well, I didn't want you to feel any worse than you did. You and Le Gaire were going to be married, and I supposed you cared a good deal for him. Someway I couldn't make myself talk about it, Billie; that's all."

Her eyes sought mine, but just then Miles appeared in the hall, halting with a salute as he caught sight of me.

"Nobody in the attic, sir, but things are getting pretty warm outside," he reported anxiously.

"The way is still open toward the ravine, Sergeant. Get your men together in the front hall at once. Never mind the prisoners; the major will release them after we have gone."

His heels came together with a click, and he strode to the head of the stairs.

"By the way, Sergeant," I called after him, "did you have a guard posted in the upper hall here this morning?"

"A guard? No, sir."

"Were you aware that any of our men had been up stairs since last evening?"

"None of them have, sir; I'm cocksure of that." "That's all, Sergeant; be lively now." My eyes turned toward Billie, and she held out both her hands.

"If we never know the truth, Lieutenant Galesworth," she said softly, "I shall believe all you have told me."



CHAPTER XXX

UNDER NEW ORDERS

Her eyes were an invitation, a plea, yet with the major at her side, his face full of wonderment, and Bell close behind us in the hall, I could only bow low over the white hands, and murmur some commonplace. There was neither opportunity nor time for more, although I felt my own deep disappointment was mirrored in the girl's face. The continuous roar of guns without, already making conversation difficult, and the hurried tramp of feet in the hall below, told the danger of delay. It was a moment when the soldier had to conquer the lover, and stern duty became supreme. I hurried to the front window, and gazed out; then to others, thus making a thorough survey of our surroundings, quickly making up my mind to a definite plan of action. So swiftly had occurrences pressed upon me I had scarcely found time before to realize the rapid approach of this new danger. Now it burst upon me in all its impending horror. Already the results of battle were visible.

An hour before the pike road leading past the plantation gates had been white and deserted, not even a spiral of dust breaking its loneliness. Through openings in a grove I had looked northward as far as the log church and observed no moving figure. But now this was all changed; as though by some mysterious alchemy, war had succeeded peace, the very landscape appearing grimly desolate, yet alive with moving figures. And these told the story, the story of defeat. It was not a new scene to me, but nevertheless pitiful. They came trudging from out the smoke clouds, and across the untilled fields, alone, or in little groups, some armed, more weaponless, here and there a bloody bandage showing, or a limp bespeaking a wound; dirty, unshaven men, in uniforms begrimed and tattered, disorganized, swearing at each other, casting frightened glances backward with no other thought or desire save to escape the pursuing terror behind. They were the riff-raff of the battle, the skulkers, the cowards, the slightly wounded, making pin pricks an excuse for escape. Wagons toiled along in the midst of them, the gaunt mules urged on by whip and voice, while occasionally an ambulance forced its way through. Here and there some worn-out straggler or wounded man had crawled into shade, and lay heedless of the turmoil. Shouts, oaths, the cracking of whips, the rumble of wheels mingled with the ceaseless roar of musketry, and the more distant reverberation of cannon, while clouds of powder smoke drifted back on the wind to mingle with the dust, giving to all a spectral look. Back from the front on various missions galloped couriers and aides, spurring their horses unmercifully, and driving straight through the mob in utter recklessness. One, a black-bearded brute, drew his sabre, and slashed right and left as he raced madly by.

Toward the ravine all remained quiet, although here and there in the orchard some of the gray-clad stragglers had found opportunity to lie down out of the ruck. But the smoke and musketry gave me a conception of the Confederate line of battle, its left thrown across the pike with centre and right doubling back into the form of a horse-shoe, all centring on the Hardy house. Within twenty minutes we would be caught as in a trap. I sprang back to the stairs, and as I did so a sudden yell rose from the surging mob without, a shout in which seemed to mingle fear and exultation. Bell, from a side window joined in, and a single glance told the reason: up from the south rode cavalry, sweeping the pike clean of its riff-raff, and behind, barely visible through the dust, tramped a compact mass of infantry, breaking into double time. The black-bearded aide dashed to their front, waving sabre and pointing; the clear note of a bugle cleaved the air; the horsemen spread out like a fan, and with the wild yell of the South rising above the din, the files of infantry broke into a run, and came sweeping forward in a gray torrent. Chambers had come up at last, come to hurl his fresh troops into the gap, and change the tide of battle. Even the stragglers paused, hastening to escape the rush, and facing again to the front. I saw some among them grasp their guns and leap into the ranks, the speeding cavalrymen driving others with remorseless sabres.

All this was but a glimpse, and with the tumult ringing in my ears, I was down stairs facing my own men.

"Where are the prisoners, Sergeant?"

"Here, sir, under guard."

"Open the front door, and pass them out. We'll be away before they can do us any harm. Step lively now."

I scarcely looked at them, moving on a run at the threats of the men, but wheeled on Hardy, who was half way down the stairs.

"Major, what do you mean to do? How will you protect your daughter?"

"Stay here with her," was the prompt reply. There will be disciplined troops here in a few minutes."

"Yes, and a battle."

"As soon as Chambers gets up in force I can pass her back to the rear."

That seemed the safer plan to me, and I had no time to argue.

"All right, you and Bell are free to do as you please. Get your men out the same window you came in, Sergeant; I'll go last. Keep down behind the fence, and make for the ravine."

He flung open the door into the parlor, and we crowded after him, but were still jammed in the doorway when he sprang back from the open window with hands flung up.

"By God, sir, here come our men!"

They came like so many monkeys, leaping the balcony rail, plunging headlong through the opening, and crowding into the room. It was like a dream, a delirium, yet I could see the blue uniforms, the new faces. In the very forefront, flung against me by the rush, I distinguished the lad I had sent back into the lines the night before.

"What does all this mean, Ross? Who are these fellows?"

"Our men, sir," he panted, scarcely able to speak. "Here—read this," and he thrust a paper into my hand. My eyes took the words in a flash, and yet for the instant they were vague, meaningless. It was only as I read them a second time that I understood, and then I gazed helplessly into the faces about me, striving to grasp the full situation.

"HDQTS 9TH ILL. CAV. "9:10 A.M.

"LIEUT. GALESWORTH:

"We advanced our centre and left at daylight, and have driven the enemy from intrenchments. Our right is under orders to advance up ravine and strike their rear. We move at once. I send this back by Ross, who will take twenty men with him to help you. Hold the Hardy house to the last possible moment. Our whole movement pivots there, and keeping possession until we arrive is of utmost importance. Hold it at any price. These are Grant's orders."

"Who gave you this?—it is unsigned."

"The colonel, sir, I saw him write it."

"And they were ready to leave?"

"They'll not be more than an hour behind, unless something stops them—the whole brigade is coming."

I comprehended now—the plan was clear-cut, easily understood. Taking advantage of the ravine in which to conceal the movement, Grant proposed to throw a brigade, or even a greater force, suddenly upon the enemy's unprotected rear, thus crushing Johnston between two fires. The word I had sent back, disclosing the complete desertion of that gash in the earth by the Confederates, had made this strategy possible. And the Hardy house was naturally the pivot of the movement, and the retention of it in our possession essential to success. But the one point they had apparently overlooked was Chambers' advance along this pike. He was supposed to be much farther east, his column blocked by heavy roads. Instead of that he was here already, his vanguard sweeping past the gate, double-quicking to the front, with long lines of infantry hurrying behind. For us to bar the retreat of Johnston's demoralized men, safely intrenched within the house, might be possible, provided artillery was not resorted to. Even with my small force I might hold them back for an hour, but to attempt such a feat against the veterans of Chambers, was simply a sentence to death. These men, fresh, undefeated, eager for battle, would turn and crush us as though we were some stinging insect. Thirty men pitted against a division! Good God! if he could send these—why not more? Yet there was nothing to do except obey, and, feeling to the full the hell of it, I crushed the paper in the palm of my hand, and looked around into the faces about me. I was in command, and we were to stay here until we died. That was all I knew, all I remembered, the words, "hold it at any price," burning in upon my brain.

"Men," I said sharply. "My orders are to hold this house until our troops come up. We'll make a try at it. Who commands this last squad?"

A sergeant, a big fellow, with closely trimmed gray moustache, elbowed his way forward, and saluted.

"From H troop, are you not?"

"Yes, sir; we're all H; my name's Mahoney."

"I remember you; Irish to a man. Well, this is going to beat any Donnybrook Fair you lads ever saw. Get busy, and barricade every door and window on this floor; use the furniture, or whatever you get hands on. Miles, take the south side, and Mahoney, the north. No shooting until I give the word; we won't stir up this hornets' nest until we have to."

The newcomers stacked their carbines in the hall, and divided into two parties, going to work with a vim, while I quickly stationed my old men where they could command every approach to the house, seeing to it that their arms were in condition, and that they had ample ammunition. Within ten minutes we were ready for a siege, or prepared to repel any attack other than artillery. The rooms looked as though a cyclone had wrecked them, the heavy furniture barricading doors and windows, yet leaving apertures through which we could see and fire. Mattresses had been dragged from beds up stairs, and thrust into places where they would yield most protection. The front door alone was left so as to be opened, but a heavy table was made ready to brace it if necessary. Satisfied nothing more could be done to increase our security I had the men take their weapons, and the sergeants assign them to places. I passed along from room to room, watchful that no point of defence had been overlooked, and speaking words of encouragement to the fellows. After the fight began there could be little commanding; every man would have to act for himself.

"Draw down the shades, lads, and keep it as dark as possible inside. Lay your ammunition beside you, where you can get it quickly. Mahoney, we shall not need as many men at these windows as we will toward the front of the house—two to a window here should be sufficient. Carbines, first, boys, and then revolvers if they get close. What is that, Miles? Yes, detail a man to each window up stairs; two to the front windows. Have them protect themselves all they can, and keep back out of sight. Now, boys, keep your eyes open, but no shooting until you get orders. Sergeant Mahoney will command this side, and Miles the other, while I'll take the front. There is a corporal here, isn't there?"

"Yes, sir,—Conroy."

"Well, Conroy, you are in charge up stairs. I'll be there and look you over in a few minutes; I want to take a glance outside first."

The brief time these hasty preparations required had witnessed a marked change in conditions without. Where before it had been a scene of disastrous confusion, it was now that of disciplined attack. Chambers' men had swept aside the stragglers, and spread out into battle lines, the gray regiments massing mostly to the right of the pike, but with heavy fringe of cavalry extending past us as far as the ravine. From my point of vantage it all formed an inspiring picture, dully monotonous in color, but alive with action; the long dust-covered lines, the rifle barrels shining, the constant shifting of columns, the regiments hurrying forward, the swift moving of cavalry, and hard riding of staff officers, sent the hot blood leaping through my veins. And all this was no dress review. Just ahead they were at it in deadly earnest—barely beyond those trees, and below the edge of the hill. I could hear the thunder of the guns, continuous, almost deafening, even at this distance; could see the black, drifting smoke, and even the struggling figures. We were almost within the zone of fire already. Men were down in the ranks yonder, and a stricken horse lay just within the gate. Back and forth, riding like mad, aides dashed out of the choking powder fumes, in endeavor to hasten up the reserves. Even as I watched one fell headlong from his saddle, struck dead by a stray bullet. I was soldier enough to understand. Within ten minutes Chambers would be out there, hurling his fresh troops against the exhausted Federal advance, while those fellows, now fighting so desperately yonder, would fall back in reserve. Could Chambers hold them? Could he check that victorious onrush of blue—those men who had fought their way five bloody miles since daybreak? I could not tell; it would be a death grapple worthy of the gods, and the Hardy house would be in the very vortex. Whether it was destined also to become a charnel house, a shambles, depended on the early coming of those other, unseen men toiling up that black ravine.

Then suddenly there recurred to my memory that Major Hardy and his daughter still remained within. They had not departed with the others, yet in the stress and excitement their presence had slipped my mind. Nor had I seen them since the new recruits came. What could be done with them now, at this late hour, the house already a fortress, the enemy in evidence everywhere? In some manner they must be gotten away at once, safely placed within the protection of friends. Not only my friendship for the father, and my love for the girl, demanded this, but the fact that they were non-combatants made it imperative. There was no time to consider methods—already we were within range of the guns, and at any moment might be directly under fire, obliged to resist assault. I was up the stairs even as the thought occurred, and confronted Hardy in the upper hall. Conroy had him by the arm, suspicious of the uniform.

"That's all right, Corporal," I said quickly. "I had forgotten the major was here. Hardy, you must get out of the house—you, and Miss Billie at once."