I am not of the disposition which surrenders easily, and my long experience as a scout had inured me to difficult ventures. Almost invariably there are means of escape, if one is fortunate enough to discover the point of weakness and possesses sufficient time in which to work. Yet as I lay there, my eyes anxiously scanning those bare, solid walls, my brain working coolly, the problem appeared unsolvable. The door, of hard-wood, fitting tightly into the jambs, was hopeless,—particularly with Billie outside, loaded revolver in hand, nerved to the shooting point. I climbed again to the window, but the casing was solidly spiked into position, and I could barely press my head through the aperture into the open air. It was a thirty-foot sheer drop to the hard gravel of the road beneath, the nearest tree limb a dozen feet distant, with the roof edge far beyond reach of the hand. I sat down in the chair, the blue smoke curling overhead, floating out the window, my eyes studying the red-tinted side walls, as I endeavored to recall each detail of the house's architecture, and the exact location of this particular room.

I had turned to the left at the head of the stairway, passing by at least three doors. Then there had occurred a slight jog in the hall, making room for a large chimney, while just beyond opened this door. It was not even visible from the front of the house, and would probably be the rearmost apartment—no, that was wrong; the hallway, much contracted in width, continued on into the ell. This was quite likely the first of the servants' quarters, and that east wall must abut directly against the chimney. With a new degree of hopefulness, I pushed aside the bed, and began testing the wall space with my knuckles. If any chimney was there, the stones were protected by wooden casing, which, covered by the red paper, was effectively concealed. I was about to abandon the search when a finger penetrated the paper, revealing a round opening—a pipe hole, left uncovered except for the wallpaper. I wrenched out the tin protector, and felt within. The chimney had apparently never been used, the interior being clear of soot, and was built of a single layer of stone, Southern fashion, the irregular fragments mortared together, and plastered smoothly on the inside. Without was a thin, narrow planking, dove-tailed, but secured by nails only at the four corners. This could be easily pried away, leaving the chimney itself open to attack. I could not reach far enough within to touch the opposite wall, but was convinced the space would prove sufficiently large to admit my body. With a knife I tested the resistance of the mortar, breaking the point of the blade, yet detaching quite a chunk, and wrenching out one small stone. Beyond doubt the task might be accomplished—but what was below? How was I to get down those smoothly plastered walls—and back again, if necessary?

I glanced at my watch; it was already nearing noon, and at any moment food might be brought me. I must wait until after that; then I should probably remain undisturbed for several hours. I shoved back the bed in such position its head-board completely concealed the slight excavation, and sat down upon it, planning anew how best to proceed. The time passed with no unusual sound reaching me from the hall without. Billie evidently felt no desire to acquaint Judge Moran with my real identity, and perhaps would thus experience some difficulty in procuring me food,—possibly would make no effort even until night. I succeeded in pushing aside the flap over the key-hole, without making any alarming noise, and applied one eye to the aperture. There was little to be seen—merely the end of a bench, and a pair of bare, black feet. The judge's sole remaining servitor doubtless, doing a turn at guard duty. As I gazed, some outside noise aroused him, and he went softly pattering down the hall.

The same sound startled me also, and I dropped the flap, clambering upon the chair so as to see without. It was a hundred feet to the main road, mostly velvety turf between, with a few trees partially obscuring the view. Yet I could see clearly enough, and up the pike leading through the village, half hidden by a cloud of dust, was advancing a regiment of cavalry, their flags draped, their horses walking in double column. As these swung into the straight road, a battery of artillery followed, gray-jacketed fellows, Confederates—Beauregard's advance.



CHAPTER IX

IMPORTANT NEWS

In spite of the recognized fact that these men were enemies, my heart throbbed, almost in pride, as I watched them pass. They were Americans, and magnificent fighting men. I had seen them, or their fellows, in the ruck and toil of battle, playing with death, smiling in the face of defeat. Now they were marching grimly forward to another clash of arms, through the blinding dust, heedless of all else but duty. This was what stirred me. No proud review, with glittering uniforms and waving flags, would have choked my throat, or dimmed my eyes, as did the sight of that plodding, silent column, half hidden under the dust cloud, uniforms almost indistinguishable, officers and men mingled, the drums still, the only sounds the steady tread, the occasional hoarse shout of command. Here was no pomp and circumstance, but grim purpose personified in self-sacrifice and endurance. With heads bowed, and limbs moving wearily, guns held at will, they swept by in unbroken column—cavalry, artillery, infantry—scarcely a face lifted to glance toward the house, with here and there a straggler limping to the roadside, or an aide spurring past—just a stream of armed men, who had been plodding on since daylight, footsore, hungry, unseeing, yet ready to die in battle at their commander's word. It was war; it was magnificent.

Yet suddenly there recurred to me my own small part in this great tragedy. Here was opportunity. Down below, on the front steps, stood the old judge, and beside him Miss Hardy, forgetful for the time of all else save those passing troops. I sprang from the chair, drew the bed back to the centre of the room, and began my assault on the wall. There was no necessity now for silence, and I dug recklessly into the mortar with my broken knife blade, wrenching forth the loosened stones, until I had thus successfully opened a space amply sufficient for my purpose. A glance down the chimney was not reassuring, no gleam of light being visible, yet I was desperate enough to take the chance of discovering some opening below. There remained but this one means of attaining the lower floor, and no time for hesitation. I tore both sheets from the bed, binding them securely together, and twisting them into a rope strong enough to sustain my weight. The bed-post served to secure one end; the other I dropped down the interior of the chimney. A glance from the window exhibited a double line of canvas-covered wagons creaking past, mules toiling wearily in the traces, under close guard of a squad of infantry. The judge and the girl were still outside. I was back instantly, and clambered recklessly into the hole.

I went down slowly, clinging desperately to the twisted sheets, unable to gain the slightest purchase on the smoothly plastered side walls. My fingers slipped, but I managed to hang on until I reached the very end of my improvised rope, my feet dangling, my arms aching from the weight. To hold on longer was seemingly impossible, yet I could neither see nor feel bottom. I let go, confident the distance could not be great, and came down without much shock a half-dozen feet below. I was in a large fire-place, apparently never utilized, the opening entirely covered by a screen of cast-iron. This fitted closely, but was unfastened, and, after feeling about cautiously in the darkness, I pushed it slightly to one side, and peered forth.

A large, rather handsomely furnished room was revealed, evidently a back-parlor, closed folding doors being conspicuous in the front wall. Three windows faced the north, their curtains partially drawn, and I could perceive through them the lattice work of a porch, covered with the green and red of a rambler rose. I recognized instantly the situation; this room was opposite, directly across the hall from where we had eaten breakfast, its windows also commanding a view of the road. Impelled by a desire to see what was continuing to take place without, I stole silently across the soft carpet, and peered forth. The last of the wagon train was lumbering past, and back of these, just wheeling around the corner, approached another column of horsemen. It would be madness for me to emerge from concealment yet, for even if I remained unnoticed by those marching troops, still there would surely be some stragglers about the premises seeking water. I sat down, staring out, endeavoring to decide about how large this Confederate force was—surely it composed all of Beauregard's corps, and, once united with Johnston, would render the Federal position extremely dangerous, perhaps untenable. Yet even now my warning of the sudden movement would be of comparatively small value, as the gap was too nearly closed for any swift advance to separate the two armies. All I could hope to accomplish was to prevent a surprise attack on our own exposed lines. And this could never be attempted before the next morning, even if Johnston swung his columns to the left in anticipation of Beauregard's approach. The troops were too thoroughly exhausted by the forced march to be hurled immediately into battle—they must be fed and rested first. Convinced as to this I remained quiet, glancing idly about the room, until sounds outside attracted attention.

A company—or possibly two—of cavalry was drawn up on the road directly fronting the house, their centre opposite the open gate, but I was compelled to lean out in order to discover just what was occurring on the driveway. A squad of a dozen horsemen, powdered with dust, yet excellently mounted, were riding slowly toward the veranda. The man slightly in advance was slender, with dark moustache and goatee, sitting straight in his saddle, and on the collar of his gray coat were the stars of a general officer. Even the hasty glance gained told me his identity—Beauregard. As this cavalcade turned at the corner of the house, I drew back, shadowed by the curtain, able thus both to see and hear. At the bottom of the steps the Confederate chieftain halted, and bowed, hat in hand.

"Judge Moran, I presume. While we have never previously met, yet your name has long been familiar. Probably I need not introduce myself."

The judge, his face beaming hospitality, grasped the outstretched hand, but Beauregard's dark, appreciative eyes were upon the girl standing at Moran's side.

"Your daughter, sir?" he asked quickly.

"Not so fortunate, General. This is Miss Willifred Hardy, of the 'Gables.'"

"Ah, yes!" the stern face instantly brightened by a rare smile. "The same fair heroine who brought the despatches from Johnston. I hoped I might reach here in time, my dear, to tell you in person how greatly I appreciate your service. May I ask if you are Major Hardy's daughter?"

Her cheeks burning, she murmured "Yes," curtsying to his rather stately bow.

"I knew your mother rather well in the old days,—a sweet girl, a Du Verne, of Baton Rouge. You have her eyes and hair." He turned toward Moran. "A courier but just arrived has brought me orders to halt my men, as Johnston is marching westward, and it is imperative that we protect the bridge yonder with sufficient force. Would it inconvenience you, Judge, if I made your house my headquarters for the night?"

"Everything I possess is freely at your service."

"Thank you. From all I have heard I could never question the loyalty of Judge Moran." He spoke a few short orders, swung down from the saddle, and, followed by a half-dozen others, began climbing the steps, talking with Miss Willifred. I heard the party enter the hall, and pause for a moment, the sound of voices mingling but indistinguishable. Then a door opened, and the men trooped into the front parlor. There was a rattle as accoutrements were laid aside; then a table was drawn forth, and Beauregard's voice spoke:

"The portfolio, Sternes; now, Captain, let me read over that last despatch again. Ah, yes, I see. Is Colonel O'Neil waiting? Tell him to post Williams' brigade at the bridge, with Ozark's battery. Pickets should be advanced at least two miles. Lieutenant Greer, ride to the Three Corners, and have the regimental commanders close all gaps in the line; in case of attack we must be able to exhibit a solid front. A moment, Major Mason,—you are to bear my report to Johnston." There followed the rapid scratching of a pen, and a subdued murmur of voices. Then the deep bass of the general again broke in: "You may as well clearly understand the proposed plans, gentlemen, so you can execute my orders with intelligence. They are extremely simple; our main attack will be directed against the enemy's left flank; the troops selected for this service will cross at the lower ford early to-morrow night. Our own movements will depend altogether upon the success of Johnston's advance. Chambers will be up sometime to-night, and will hold a position at rear of the centre in reserve. Is this sufficiently clear?"

"Do we cross the bridge?"

"Not until Johnston informs us his assaulting column is in touch with the enemy."

"There is no absolute hour set?"

"No; that will depend upon the arrival of Chambers. And now, gentlemen, we will adjourn to the dining-room."

They passed out, evidently in the best of humor, and I could hear them chatting and laughing in the hall. But my thoughts were now concentrated upon my own work. This was important news I had overheard, and must be in the possession of the Federal commander without delay. No personal danger could be considered. But how was it possible to get away unobserved? I was in full uniform, and unarmed; the house—now Beauregard's headquarters—under close guard; the surrounding roads lined with troops. It would be simply madness to attempt crossing the river before nightfall, and yet I could not hope to remain where I was all the afternoon without discovery. As soon as the duties of hospitality were over Miss Willifred would certainly recall her prisoner, and it could not be long before my escape from the room above would be known. I must be safely out of the house before this occurred. It seemed to me the stables offered the best hiding-place, or else the deserted negro cabins.

I could examine the greater part of the front yard from the windows, the squad of troopers camped near the gate, and the sentinel pacing before the steps, but was compelled to lean far out to gain any glimpse of the rear. I could perceive no soldiers in this direction, however, and was encouraged to note a long grape arbor, thickly overgrown with vines, extending from the house to the other extremity of the garden. Once safely within its shadow I might get through unseen. And there was but one means of attaining the grape arbor—through the back hall, via either the kitchen or the cellar. I opened the door with all possible caution, and took silent survey of the hall. The front door stood open and a guard was stationed without, but with his back toward me. I could hear voices in the dining-room, but the hall itself appeared deserted, and, feeling that it was either now or never, I slipped forth, and started toward the rear. There were two doors, one at the very extremity of the hall, the other upon the right, both closed. Uncertain which to choose I tried the first I came to, but, even as I cautiously turned the knob, the second was opened from without, and a man entered hurriedly. We stared into each others' faces, both too completely surprised for speech. He was a cavalry sergeant, a gray-beard, and, with my first movement, was tugging at a weapon.

"Hold on there, my buck!" he said gruffly. "None o' that, now. By God! it's a Yank. Bill, come here."

The guard at the front door ran down the hall toward us, his gun thrown forward.



CHAPTER X

MISS WILLIFRED INTERVENES

Any effort at escape was clearly useless; the noise and shouting had already attracted the attention of those within, and a half-dozen officers streamed out through the dining-room door, eager to learn what had occurred.

"What's the trouble out here, Sims?" demanded the first to appear, striding forward. "Well, by all the gods, a Yank, and in full regalia! Where did you discover this fellow?"

"I'd been back fer a drink, sir," explained the sergeant, still eying me, "an' was just comin' in through ther door yer, when I run inter him, sneakin' 'long ther wall—thet's ther whole bloomin' story."

The officer, a smooth-faced lad, turned abruptly to me.

"Well, what have you got to say?"

"Nothing," I answered quietly, "you are perfectly welcome to draw your own conclusions."

"Oh, indeed," sarcastically. "We'll see what more civil answer you'll make to the general. Sims, bring the fellow along."

The two soldiers grabbed me roughly by the arms, but I made no resistance, cool enough by this time, although realizing fully the peril of my position. I was marched in through the open door, and stood up in the centre of the dining-room, Sims posted on one side of me, the guard on the other, the officers forming a picturesque background. Beauregard was on his feet, and Miss Hardy stood between the windows, her hands clasped, her cheeks red.

"What is all this, gentlemen? A Federal officer in full uniform? How comes he here?"

I made no attempt to answer, unable to formulate an excuse, and the young fellow broke in swiftly,

"Sims caught him in the hall, General. He is unarmed, but refuses to explain."

The general's stern dark eyes were upon my face.

"Hardly a spy, I think," he said quietly. "What is the explanation, sir? Are you the bearer of a message?"

I started to speak, but before the first uncertain word came to my lips, the girl swept forward, and stood between us.

"Let me explain," she cried swiftly. "This gentleman is a friend of Captain Le Gaire's, and was presented to me as Major Atherton, formerly on General Pemberton's staff—perhaps there may be some here who know him?"

She glanced inquiringly about on the faces of the group, and a stockily built infantry captain struck his open hand on the table.

"By Jove, that's it! Thought I recognized the face. How are you, Atherton?—met you at Big Shanty."

Still puzzled, although evidently relieved, Beauregard remained motionless.

"But the uniform?" he questioned. "And how did you reach the hallway without being seen?"

Her eyes met mine in a rapid flash of understanding, a little nervous laugh drawing the general's attention.

"It is almost ridiculous," she exclaimed. "Major Atherton came through the lines with me last night. He was detailed on special service, for which purpose he donned that uniform. On meeting Captain Le Gaire here, and learning of your advance, it was no longer necessary for him to proceed at once, and, as he was very tired, he was persuaded to lie down in a room upstairs. Waking, he naturally came down into the hall, knowing nothing of your arrival. Have I correctly presented the case, Major Atherton?"

Her eyes challenged me, and I bowed.

"A perfectly clear statement."

"And a most charming advocate," added Beauregard. "We must find you some more appropriate garments, Major, but meanwhile there is room here at the table. Captain Bell, would you kindly move a little to the right. Now, Hughes, serve Major Atherton."

I do not recall ever feeling more awkwardly embarrassed than during the next few minutes. Not that the assembled officers lacked in courtesy, or failed to interest in light conversation. Led by the general they all endeavored to make me forget my strange position, and the unpleasant episode of arrest. Indeed, but for the presence of Miss Willifred in the room I imagine I should have been very much at ease, perfectly capable of doing my full share of entertaining. But with the girl standing silently in the shadow of the curtains, her eyes occasionally meeting mine, I felt a constant restraint which impelled me to answer almost in mono-syllables. She had openly defended me, saved me from arrest; without telling a direct falsehood she had, nevertheless, led these men into a grievous misunderstanding. Why had she done this? Through personal interest in me? Through some wild impulse of the moment? I could not even guess; only, I was assured of one thing: her secret motive involved no lack of loyalty to the cause of the South. Realizing this I dare not presume on her continued friendliness, dare not sit there and lie calmly, filling these men with false information, and permitting imagination to run rampant. Her eyes condemned that, and I felt the slightest indiscretion on my part would result in betrayal. Perhaps even then she regretted her hasty action, and sought some excuse for blurting out the truth. Fortunately conversation drifted into safe channels. Bell was full of reminiscences of Big Shanty, requiring on my part but brief acquiescence, and, after a very few personal questions by the others, sufficiently direct to demand reply, Beauregard asked me about the disposition of Johnston's forces, to which I was fortunately able to respond intelligently, giving him many details, sufficiently interesting, although of no great value. To his desire for information relative to Chambers' advance from the south, and the number of his troops, I was obliged to guess rather vaguely, but finally got away with a vivid description of Miss Hardy's night ride, which caused even the girl herself to laugh, and chime in with a word or two. With the officers the meal was nearly completed when I joined them, and it was therefore not long until the general, noting the others had finished, pushed back his own chair.

"We will adjourn to the parlor, gentlemen," he said genially, "I shall have other orders to despatch presently. When you finish, Major, I shall be glad to talk with you more at length; until then we leave you to the care of Miss Hardy."

They passed out, and as the door closed behind the last straggler, she came slowly across the room, and sat down in a chair opposite me, resting her flushed cheek on one hand.

"What made you do it?" I asked, impelled by a curiosity which could no longer be restrained.

"Oh, I don't know," and her lashes lifted, giving me one swift glimpse into the depths of her eyes. "A mere impulse when I first realized the danger of your position."

"Then it was for me?—because you cared?"

"Perhaps I would have done the same for any one—I am a woman."

"I can comprehend that, yes," I insisted, "but am not willing to believe mere sympathy would carry you so far. Was there not, back of all, a feeling almost of friendship?"

"I make no such acknowledgment. I spoke before I thought; before I even realized what my words meant. And you?—how came you there?"

I told her briefly, answering her questions without reserve, rejoicing in the interest she exhibited in my narrative, and eager to know at once how far I could still presume on her assistance. I wanted to get away, to escape from the web about me, but I could not understand this girl, or comprehend how far I dare venture on her good nature. Already I knew that some feeling—either of friendship or sympathy—had impelled her to save me from immediate betrayal, but would she go even further? Everything between us conspired to bewilder me as to her real purpose. Even as I concluded, it seemed to me her eyes hardened, and the expression of her face changed.

"That was extremely clever, Lieutenant Galesworth," she commented quietly. "I never knew the chimney touched that wall. Now what do you propose doing?"

"You must understand my only interest is in getting away as soon as possible. I am in constant danger here."

"Of course," nodding, her cheeks flushed. "And you also possess very important information. Because I have aided you to escape capture, do you conclude I am a fool?"

"Most assuredly not."

"Or a traitress to the South?"

"I could not think that."

"Then let us clearly understand each other once for all. I have saved you from capture, perhaps death. The reason I have done this need not be discussed; indeed I could not satisfactorily explain my action even to myself. But if the truth ever becomes known I shall be placed in a most embarrassing position. Surely you understand this, and you are a gentleman; I am sure of that. You are not going to carry that news to your camp. Before I should permit that to happen I would denounce you openly, and permit those men yonder to think evil of me. But I do not believe that course necessary. Instead, I am going to trust you as a gentleman—am going to accept your word of honor."

"My word? You mean my parole?"

"You may call it that—your pledge to remain in this house until I say you may go."

"But—"

"Stop! Lieutenant Galesworth, do you not owe this to me?"

I hesitated, fronting this direct question, looking straight across the table into her serious face, as she leaned toward me. What was my most important duty—that which I owed the Federal army, or that I owed to this girl? And then again—did I really have a choice? There was never a doubt in my mind as to what she would do if the occasion arose. I had tested her quality already, and fully comprehended the promise to turn me over to the Confederate guard was no idle threat. She would trust my word, but, failing that, would certainly do the other thing. There was no spirit of play in those eyes watching me.

"Apparently I possess no real choice," I answered, at last. "Either way I am a prisoner."

She smiled, evidently relieved at my tone.

"Yes—but have you no preference as to captors?"

"Put thus, hesitation ends; I accept the terms of parole."

"You mean it?"

"Yes."

She extended her hand across the table, and I as instantly grasped it, both almost unconscious of the actions.

"I ought to thank you," I began, but she broke in as quickly:

"No; please don't. I know I am not doing what I should. It is all so strange that I am actually dazed; I have lost all understanding of myself. It is painful enough to realize that I yield to these impulses, without being constantly reminded that I fail in duty. I do not want your gratitude."

She had withdrawn her hand, and was upon her feet. I thought her whole form was trembling, her lips seeking to frame words.

"I certainly had no intention of hurting you."

"Oh, I know—I know that. You cannot understand. Only I am sorry you came—came into my life, for ever since it has been trouble. Now you must simply wait until I say go, and then you will go; won't you?"

"Yes—but not to forget."

She turned back toward me.

"You had better," coldly. "It will be useless to remember."

It was my turn to smile, for she could not play the part, her eyes veiling themselves behind the long lashes.

"Nevertheless I shall," I insisted warmly. "I find it not altogether unpleasant—being your prisoner."



CHAPTER XI

THE RETURN OF LE GAIRE

"I shall endeavor to make it as little unpleasant as I can," she rejoined, "but will demand obedience. Right wheel; forward march. Yes, through the door; the surroundings are not unfamiliar."

It was the judge's library, where I had hidden before at the coming of Captain Le Gaire, and she paused in the doorway, glancing curiously about.

"Remember now, you are on parole, but restricted to this room."

"For how long?" She made an exceedingly pretty picture in that frame, and I was in no hurry to be deprived of it.

"Until—well, until I am pleased to release you. Don't scowl; I'm sure I'm trying to be nice, and I never was so polite to a Yankee before. Really this is the pleasantest room in the house; I have passed hours in here myself."

"Perhaps this afternoon—"

She shook her head violently, her eyes dancing with laughter.

"Certainly not; with all these Confederate officers here. Sometimes I think you are very conceited—I wonder if you are." And then before I could answer,—"What a handsome man Captain Bell is; and so delightful of him to remember having met you."

The witch was plainly enough laughing at me, but she chose a poor subject in Bell.

"And my sentence, then, is solitary confinement?"

"That is far better than you deserve. Those windows open on the porch, and there is a sentry there; the door leads to the rear of the house. I shall not even lock it, nor this. I leave you here upon your word of honor, Lieutenant Galesworth."

She was gone like the flutter of a bird, and I sank back upon the soft cushion of a library chair, still smiling, my eyes wandering curiously about the room. Then I got up, examined the windows and the rear door, and returned. Escape was dangerous, but possible, yet no serious thought of making such an attempt even occurred to me. For whatever unknown reason, the girl's quick wit had saved me from capture; I owed her every loyalty, and I had pledged her my word. That was enough. The more I turned the circumstances over in my mind the less I seemed to comprehend her motives, yet there could be no doubt she sought to serve me. A word from her to Le Gaire, or to Beauregard, would have ended my career instantly. Instead of speaking this word of betrayal she had deliberately placed herself in my defence, deceiving her own people. Why? Was there more than a mere impulse behind the action? Was she doing for me more than she would have done for another under similar circumstances? Was this act merely the result of womanly sympathy? For the life of me I could not determine. She was like two individuals, so swiftly did her moods change—one moment impressing me as a laughing girl, the next leaving me convinced she was a serious-minded woman. Just as I thought I knew, believed I understood, she would change into another personality, leaving me more bewildered than ever. Suddenly I thought again of Le Gaire, remembering his dark, handsome face, his manner of distinction, and there came to me mistily the words overheard during their unexpected meeting. She had called him "Gerald," and there had been other words exchanged—aye! he had even taunted her with their engagement, objecting to her being alone with me, and she had denied nothing. Somehow this suddenly recurring memory left me hot and angry. I disliked Le Gaire; from the very first moment of gazing into his dark, sneering eyes I had felt antagonism, a disposition to quarrel; but now something more potent rose between us—the girl. I was not blind to the man's attractions; I could easily understand how he could find way to a girl's heart. But a man can judge a man best, and every instinct of my nature warned me against this fellow. The very first sound of his voice had prejudiced me, and when I saw him I knew I was right—with him manliness was but veneer. And Billie! The name sounded soft, sweet, womanly now and I longed to speak it in her presence. Billie! I said it over and over again reverently, her face floating before me in memory, and then my lips closed in sudden determination: not without a fight, a hard fight, was this gray-jacket going to retain her, going to keep her from me.

It was a mad resolve; yet it was there, in my heart and upon my lips. I had come upon the field late, come in the wrong uniform, but I was sufficiently in earnest now. The girl liked me, served me, and she interested me as no other ever had. Her very moods, piquant, reserved, aroused my ambition, stimulated my purpose, and Le Gaire—the very thought of him was a thorn in the flesh. I have wondered since if I really loved her then; I do not know, but I dreamed of her, idealized her, my heart throbbing at every unusual sound without, hoping she might come again. I could hear the noise of the cavalry camp on the lawn, and the tramp of feet in the hall. Occasionally some voice sounded clear enough so I could distinguish the words. I opened the door leading into the dining-room, but that apartment was deserted. There was evidently nothing to do but wait, and I lay down on the couch between the windows, looking up at the green leaves shaking in the breeze. Fatigued with the labors of the previous night, before I realized the possibility I was fast asleep.

I must have remained there some hours, totally unconscious, for when I finally awoke it was nearly dark, the dusk so pronounced I could scarcely see across the room. Some noise without had aroused me, and I knew instantly what it was—the pounding of a horse's hoofs on gravel, the animal being furiously ridden. As I sat up, the horse was jerked to its haunches, and the rider swung from the saddle.

"Here, orderly, take the rein; quick now, damn you!" The words reached me clearly, but as I glanced out I saw only a dark form springing up the steps. Something familiar about the voice caused me to leap for the door, holding it sufficiently ajar so I could overhear what passed in the hall. There was a muttered word or two to the sentry, the newcomer insisting angrily on seeing Beauregard; then a woman's voice suddenly broke in with an exclamation of surprise.

"You back again! I am afraid you will have to wait to see the general unless your mission is of the utmost importance. He is lying down, and left orders he was not to be disturbed before nine o'clock."

"My mission is important enough," was the reply, "but perhaps, it can be attended to without him. Where can, we be alone, Billie?"

"Right in here," stepping through the doorway into the deeper dusk of the dining-room. "If you are hungry I can order a lunch."

"No," impatiently, "I have eaten twice to-day—what I want to know is what has become of that fellow who was here this morning?"

"Major Ather—"

"Oh, hell!" forgetting every pretence to gentility. "He was not Atherton at all, but a damned Yankee spy. Do you mean to say you didn't know it?"

I could see her straighten up, turning swiftly to face him. Whatever the shock of discovery may have been, indignation conquered, and her voice was cool, stinging.

"Captain Le Gaire, I am not in the habit of being sworn at, and will leave you to gain your information elsewhere."

She swept by him to the door, but, gasping with surprise, the man managed to call after her,

"Billie, don't go like that! I didn't mean to swear. It was jolted out of me, and I beg your pardon."

She halted on the threshold, glancing back evidently in hesitation.

"This is not the first time you have let your temper loose in my presence," she said slowly, "but it is the last. If you feel so little respect for me now, the future is not very encouraging."

"But, Billie, you don't understand!"

"I understand enough. However we will not discuss this matter any further at present. What was it you desired to know?"

"Where that fellow has gone!" instantly flaming up again. "He wasn't Atherton at all, but I'll swear he was the very picture of him; he would have fooled the devil."

"No doubt," almost indifferently. "How did you discover the deception?"

"By merest accident. Happened to mention meeting him to old Trevor, and he was up in arms in a minute. Seems Atherton married his niece, and the fellow here couldn't be the major, for he was shot in a skirmish three weeks ago, and has been in the hospital at Athens ever since. He's there now; rode over to Pemberton's headquarters to make sure, and met Gregory, Chief-of-Staff. He saw Atherton Saturday, and he wasn't able to sit up yet. The fellow here was a Yank—and you didn't know it?"

"I very naturally supposed he was what he represented himself to be," she replied, coming back into the room. "And when you recognized him as an old acquaintance I never gave the matter another thought."

"But he came through the lines with you," bewildered and doubtful.

"The best of reasons why I should never have suspected him of being a Yankee. He was very pleasant and gentlemanly."

"Oh, indeed! all a man has to do is smile and say nice things to get you women on his side."

"Then why don't you try it? You are certainly disagreeable enough to-day."

"Perhaps I am," endeavoring to laugh. "But if I could get my hands on that Yank I'd be in far better humor. Where is he?"

"The last time I saw him," with provoking coolness, "he was at dinner with General Beauregard and staff."

"At dinner! Here! Good God! he must have nerve. How did it happen?"

"Through my introduction originally, and then later he was recognized by Captain Bell."

Le Gaire sank down into a chair, glaring at the girl's dim, white-robed figure, his teeth savagely clicking in an effort to keep from swearing. As though to exasperate him yet more she laughed.

"I fail to see the fun," he snarled impatiently. "This is no joke, let me tell you, and we'll both find it out if Beauregard ever learns the truth. What did they talk about?"

"Army matters mostly. The general wished information regarding the movement of Johnston's and Chambers' forces, and Major Atherton—"

"Don't call the fellow that!"

"Then what shall I call him?"

He struck his fist on the table, almost devoid of the power of speech.

"I don't care, only not that. I tell you he's not Atherton, but a sneaking Yankee spy."

"Why, he was in full uniform!"

"He'll hang, just the same, if we get him. Now see here—did Beauregard let out any facts?"

She drew a quick breath, one hand on her breast, and it seemed to me her voice trembled.

"He talked as he would to one of his own officers. They discussed the plans of operation quite freely among themselves."

Le Gaire groaned, his elbows on the table, his head in his hands. She remained motionless, looking at him. Suddenly he glanced up.

"I'll be hanged if I understand you, Billie," he exclaimed. "Don't you care, or don't you realize what this means? That fellow has got all our plans, and he's got safely away with them too, I suppose."

She nodded, as he paused an instant.

"Before morning they'll be over there," with a wave of the hand, "and our move checkmated. Whose fault is it? Yours and mine. It's enough to drive a man crazy, and you stand there and laugh."

"I am not laughing."

"Well, you were a minute ago. Do you even suspect who the fellow is?"

"You said he was Major Ath—"

"Oh, hell!" springing to his feet, with sword rattling, and hands clinched. "I won't stand this, not even from you. You're hiding something; what is it? Is this Yank anything to you?"

"Absolutely nothing, Captain Le Gaire. Take your hand from my arm, please. Now I will trouble you to stop this controversy. I am not indifferent, but I refuse to be bullied, and sworn at. If you are so wild to capture this spy why don't you make the rounds of the pickets instead of remaining here and quarrelling with me? The man is not hiding behind my skirts. I will bid you good-night."

She was gone before he could even fling out a hand to stop her. A moment he raged between table and wall; then flung out the door and down the steps, calling for his horse.



CHAPTER XII

AN ATTEMPT AT ESCAPE

The seriousness of my situation was clearly apparent, yet what could I do in order to save myself? My word was pledged, and it was evident the girl had no intention of betraying my presence. But would she come to me? Would she give me the opportunity of escape? It must be accomplished now if at all, before Le Gaire returned, or had time to complete his round of the pickets. Every instant of delay robbed me of a chance—and my life hung in the balance. There was little doubt as to that; I could advance no military reason for being treated other than as a spy, and my fate would be the short shift meted out to such over the drum-head. All this swept through my brain as I listened to the hoofs of Le Gaire's horse pound the gravel outside, the sound dying away in the distance. The sentinel marched slowly past the window, his figure silhouetted against the red glow of a camp-fire inside the gate. Then, without a warning sound, the door was pushed ajar, and the girl slipped silently through. The distant reflection of the fire barely served to reveal her face, and outline her figure. She was breathing heavily and trembling with excitement, her voice barely audible.

"You—you heard what was said in there?" she asked, eager to gain time. "You know Captain Le Gaire has returned?"

"Yes," thinking to calm her by an appearance of coolness. "He seems to be a most blood-thirsty individual."

"He was angry at being deceived. No one can blame him, but I simply had to tantalize him in order to get him away."

"Was that it? Do you mean so you might come here to me?"

"Why, of course. I had promised you. Do you think I would demean myself by lying—to a Yank? Besides," her voice faltered, "you would have kept your parole, and—and—"

"Waited here to be hung, probably," I broke in, "as that ceremony appears to be part of the programme. My only hope was that you might possibly object to this item of entertainment."

"Don't laugh," soberly. "There is no fun in it for me."

"Then you would show mercy even to a Yankee spy?"

"I am not sure of that. I am a Rebel, but that has no serious weight now. You are not a spy; if you have acted as one, it has been more through my fault than your own. Besides you are my prisoner, and if I should permit you to fall into the hands of those men, to be condemned to death, the memory would haunt me forever. I am not that kind, Lieutenant Galesworth. I don't want your gratitude; I would rather fight you than help you. I want you to understand this first of all."

"I do, Miss Hardy; you simply perform a duty."

"Yes; I—I keep my word."

"But, after all, isn't it a little easier because—you like me?"

She drew in her breath so quickly it was almost a sob, the swift, unexpected question disarming her in an instant. It was no longer the tiger cat, but the woman who gasped out a surprised response.

"No; oh, no! that is what makes it harder."

"Harder to aid me?"

"To see you unjustly condemned, and—and to realize that perhaps I am disloyal to my country."

Something about these simple words of confession, wrung from her lips by my insistence, held me silent. I failed to realize then the full significance of this acknowledgment, and she gave me no opportunity.

"This is ungenerous," she broke in quickly. "I do feel friendly toward you; surely I need not be ashamed of this, even though our interests are unlike, our causes opposed. Everything has conspired to make us friends. But you must not presume, or take advantage of my position. Now listen—I am here for one purpose: to give you an opportunity of escape. After that we are strangers; do you accept my terms?"

"You offer no others?"

"None."

"Then I accept—until Fate intervenes."

"You believe in Fate?"

"When aided by human persistence, yes; I intend to represent that goddess."

She drew back a step, her hand on the door.

"You almost make me regret my effort," reproachfully. "However I warn you the goddess this time shall play you false. But we waste moments in talk. Here is your revolver, Lieutenant; now come with me."

She thrust the butt into my hand, and crossed the room to the door opening out into the back yard. An instant she peered forth into the night; then turned her face back toward me.

"Take my place here," she whispered. "See that line of shadow yonder—it is the grape arbor. I am going to steal along to the end of the house where I can watch the sentinel. The instant I signal make for that arbor, and lie quiet until I come."

I watched the dim outline of her form. She was actually doing all this for me—for me! She was running this great risk, smothering her own conscience—for me! I could not doubt this as a truth; I had probed deeply enough to be assured there was personal interest, friendliness, inspiring the sacrifice. She would never have lifted a hand to save a Yankee spy; all her sympathy was with the Confederacy. Yet she was risking all—her reputation, her life—to save me! The knowledge seemed to send fire through my veins, my heart throbbed fiercely. Oh, she could dissemble, could pretend all this was merely duty, could rage against herself and me, but nevertheless I understood—she was doing it for me! I knew, and she should know—yes, this very night, out yonder in the shadows, when we were alone together I would make her realize what it all meant. Le Gaire? What cared I for Le Gaire! This was Love and War combined, and all is fair in either. Besides, it was the girl who counted, who must say the final word—why should I hesitate for the sake of Le Gaire? Let him fight for himself; surely the prize was worth the battle.

Her hand waved; I could catch the glimmer of the white sleeve, and recognized it as a signal. With a dozen steps I was at the entrance to the arbor, crouching down low in the shadows. As noiseless as a ghost she sped across the open space, and joined me. I could feel her form tremble as I touched her, and she caught my arm with both hands, her face turned backward.

"They are relieving guard," she faltered, "and will come past here next, for there is a sentry on the opposite side. We must get farther down under the vines."

I drew her forward, for she clung to me strangely, as though all the courage and strength had suddenly deserted her.

"There are no guards down here?"

"No."

"Nor at the stables?"

"I cannot tell; I was afraid to ask."

The arbor ended some thirty feet from the stables, with a low, vine-covered fence between. There have been darker nights, yet I could distinguish merely the dim outlines. Still feeling her clasp on my arm I came to a halt, startled into absolute silence by the approach of the relief guard. The sturdy tramp of feet, and the slight tinkle of bayonets against canteens, told plainly the fellows had turned our way, although, crouched where we were, we could at first see nothing. I drew my revolver, my other hand clasping hers, and waited breathlessly. The little squad came trudging down the opposite side of the fence, only the upper part of their bodies dimly visible against the slightly lighter background of the sky. I made out the officer in command, and four men, then they wheeled into the shadow of the stables, and the sentinel stationed there challenged. There was a reply, the sound of a musket brought sharply to the shoulder, a gruff, indistinguishable order, and then again the tramp of feet, dying away in the distance. Every movement, and word, told the story, revealed the situation. I turned my eyes back to the girl's face, questioningly, barely able to perceive its whiteness.

"They have a guard there," I whispered, my lips close to her ear. "Is there no other way out?"

"Yes, on foot, but I supposed you would need a horse."

"And there are horses there?"

"I do not know about any others; I understand the judge has lost all his, but the one Captain Le Gaire left for you this morning was taken there."

"You know the situation,"—the cavalryman's eagerness for a mount overcoming all thought of danger,—"how best to get in."

"Yes; I went out there with Tom when the judge told him to put up the horse,—I wanted to see how my pony was getting along. The door is on that side to the east, just around the corner. It is closed by a wooden button. The pony is in the first stall, and the horse in the second; the saddle and bridle were hung on a peg behind," she said this clearly, anxious to make me understand, but then, as the other thought came to her, her voice broke. "But, Lieutenant Galesworth, you—you cannot get the horse with the guard there!"

My clasp closed more tightly on her fingers, my resolve hardening.

"He's only a man, perhaps sleepy and careless, while I am wide awake. One must be willing to assume risk in war. With the horse under me I have a chance, while on foot I should probably be caught before daylight. Don't worry; this is not my first attempt."

"You—you mean to try?"

"Certainly; I should be a poor specimen if I did not. But I am going to say good-bye to you first, and then lie here quietly until you are safely in the house."

She drew in a quick breath, her face lifting.

"The house! I am going to remain here."

"But the risk you run, and you can be of no help."

"Oh, don't argue!" impatiently. "There is no more risk of my discovery here than there. I want to know what happens; I would rather face anything than suspense. Lieutenant Galesworth, I have always had my way, and I shall now."

Down in my heart I rejoiced at her decision, but all I said was:

"Very well, Miss Willifred, it makes me feel like a knight going forth to battle under the eyes of his lady." The slight flutter of a ribbon at her throat caught my eye, and I touched it with my finger. "May I wear this in token of your good wishes?"

"You—you are not going to kill any one?"

"Not if it can possibly be avoided."

She was silent a moment, so still I could hear her breathing; then her hands undid the ribbon knot, and she held it toward me.

"I—I do wish you well," she said softly. "I—don't know why, but I do."



CHAPTER XIII

I MEET LE GAIRE

My hand touching her own seemed to work a sudden transformation. She was instantly upon her feet facing me, drawing back a little against the grape arbor.

"Do not take my words so seriously," she exclaimed. "I am excited, almost hysterical to-night. To-morrow I shall regret much I have done and said. But you must go, Lieutenant; every moment of delay adds to your peril and mine. No; please do not touch me or speak to me again; only listen—there is a bridle path leading directly from the farther corner of the stable to the river; a gate will let you out of the orchard lot; now go!"

"You will not even shake hands?" "I—I—yes, of course, I will do that." Our fingers clasped, and we stood face to face, our eyes meeting through the darkness. The thrill of contact, the wild hope that this girl really cared unusually for me, became almost overpowering. I longed to crush her in my arms, to pour into her ears the passionate words that burned on my lips. I forgot everything except her presence, her nearness, the soft pressure of her hand.

"Billie! Billie!"

"No! No!" and she had instantly released herself. "You forget yourself; you forget my position. Now it is good-bye."

"You positively mean this?"

"I do. I am a soldier's daughter, Lieutenant Galesworth, and I am trusting you to act as a soldier and a gentleman."

Under the cloak of darkness my face burned, feeling the reproof of this appeal, realizing that I merited the sting. For the instant my actions, my presumption, seemed contemptible. I had taken advantage of her kindness, her sympathy, her trust, and openly misconstrued womanly friendliness into a stronger emotion. The rebuke was perfectly just; I could not even find words of apology, but turned away silently. And she made no effort to stay me, either by word or motion.

I had crept forward as far as the low fence before the numbness left me, before I came back to full comprehension of my situation, and the serious work confronting me. Then the soldier spirit reawoke into alert action, my thought intent upon escape, my nerves steadying down for the coming trial. I recall glancing back, imagining I saw the white glimmer of her dress against the dark shrubbery, and then I resolutely drove all memory of her from my mind, concentrating every instinct to the one immediate purpose of overcoming the stable guard. This was not altogether new work to one inured as a scout, but sufficiently serious to call forth every precaution. Cautiously I crept along the fence until I discovered an opening large enough to crawl through, scarcely rustling the concealing leaves, and resting flat on the opposite side while I surveyed the prospect. I was not far now from the south wall of the stable, which loomed black and shapeless against the sky. Not a movement revealed the whereabouts of the guard, and, with the girl's description to guide me, I concluded the fellow would be stationed at the other extremity of the building. Convinced as to this probability I dragged my body slowly forward until I could touch the log wall. I could see better now, being myself in the denser shadow, and knew the passage was clear to the corner.

Assured of this I rose to my feet, revolver in hand, and pressing close against the side of the building, advanced quickly and silently. At the corner I peered about, scarcely daring to breathe, but with heart pounding, as I caught sight of the fellow, not over three feet distant. He was seated on an overturned bucket, his back toward me, both hands clasping a musket, his head bent slightly forward. He seemed listening to some noise in the distance, totally unconscious of my approach. The man's fingers were nowhere near the trigger of his gun, and my straining eyes could perceive no sign of any other weapon. This had to be silent work—silent and swift. With one step forward I had my revolver pressed hard against his cheek, my other hand crushing his fingers to the musket.

"Keep quiet, man! Not a move! I'll blow your head off if you lift a hand!"

"Oh! Good God!"

He was but little more than a boy; I could see his face now under the slouch hat, and I had already frightened the life half out of him.

"Drop your gun! Now stand up!" He obeyed like an automaton, his brain seemingly paralyzed. There was nothing to fear from this fellow, yet I knew better than to become careless—terror has been known to drive men crazy. I caught him by the collar, whirling him about, my Colt still at his ear.

"Go straight to the stable door, son!"

"Who—who are you? W—what do you want?"

"Don't stop to ask questions—you trot, unless you want to get hurt. Do you hear me?—the stable door! That's it; now undo the button, open the door, and go inside."

I held him like a vice, assured his belt contained no weapons, and thrust him forward against the wall. He was so helpless in my grasp that it was like handling a child.

"Feel along there—higher up—and tell me what you find. Well, what is it?"

"A—a bridle," his voice barely audible.

"Halter strap on it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Take it off, and hand it back here. Now go on, and feel the next stake."

"There's a blanket, and—and a rope halter."

"Good! give me that; now, son, put both hands back here, cross the wrists. Come, stand up to it; this is better than getting killed, isn't it? Now here is a nice soft spot to lie on, and I guess you'll remain there for a while. Do you want me to gag you, or will you keep still?"

"I'll—I'll keep still!"

"Well, be sure you do; your life isn't worth a picayune if you raise any row."

I arose to my feet, confident the boy had been safely disposed of, and feeling blindly around in the darkness, seeking to locate the stalls. At that instant a horse neighed outside; then I heard the sound of hoofs pounding on soft soil. Whoever the fellow was, he was almost there—coming up at a trot, just back of the stables. My brain worked in a flash—there was but once chance to stave off discovery. With a bound I was beside the boy, and had jerked off his hat, jamming it down on my own head, as I muttered in his ear, "One word from you now, and you'll never speak again—don't take the chance!"

I leaped for the door, and grasped the musket, barely straightening up, as the oncoming horseman swung around the corner. It was a desperate chance, yet in this darkness he could scarcely distinguish color of uniform or shape of features. It might work; it was worth trying. I saw the dim outlines of horse and rider in a red glow, as though the latter held a cigar between his lips; then I swung forward my gun.

"Halt! who comes?"

Startled by the sudden challenge, the horse reared to the sharp jerk at the reins, the man uttering an oath as he struggled to control the beast.

"Hell! What's this?"

"A sentry post; answer up, or I'll call the guard—who are you?"

"An officer on special service." "Dismount, and give the word."

He swung reluctantly down, growling, yet with sufficient respect for my cocked musket to be fairly civil, and stepped up against the lowered barrel, his horse's rein in hand.

"Atlanta," he whispered.

My gun snapped back to a carry, my only thought an intense anxiety to have him off as quickly as possible.

"Pass officer on special service."

He paused, puffing at his cigar.

"What's the best way to the house, sentry?" he asked with apparent carelessness, "along the fence there?"

"The road runs this side, you can't miss it," I replied civilly enough, but stepping back so as to increase our distance.

"Ah, yes—thanks."

He flipped the ash from his cigar, drawing at the stub so fiercely the red glow reflected directly into my eyes. He stared a moment, then turned, and thrust a foot into the stirrup.

"I've seen you somewhere before, my man."

"I was at the gate when you came through just before dark."

"Oh, yes," he replied, apparently satisfied, and swung up lightly into the saddle. "So you recognize me, then?"

"Captain Le Gaire, is it not? The sergeant said so."

He believed he had me completely deceived, that I entertained no suspicion he had also recognized me, and that therefore he could play me a sharp trick. I was not sure, for the man acted his part rarely well, only that I knew it was not in Le Gaire's nature to be so excessively polite. What was his game, I wondered, gripping my musket with both hands, my eyes following his every motion. Would he venture an attack alone, or ride on and report me to the guard? I had little enough time in which to speculate. He gathered up the reins in one hand, his horse cavorting; he had probably found somewhere a fresh mount. I stepped aside, but the animal still faced me, and with high-flung head partially concealed his rider. Suddenly the latter dug in his spurs, and the beast leaped straight at me, front hoofs pawing the air. I escaped as by a hair's breadth, one iron shoe fairly grazing my shoulder, but, with the same movement, I swung the clubbed musket. He had no time to dodge; there was a thud as it struck, a smothered cry, and the saddle was empty, a revolver flipping into the air, as the man went plunging over. I sprang to the horse's bit, the frightened animal dragging me nearly to the fence before I conquered him. But I dare not let go—once free he would join the troop horses, his riderless saddle sure to alarm the guards. With lacerated hands, and shirt torn into shreds, I held on, jerked and bruised by the mad struggle, until the fellow stood trembling. Using the bridle rein for a halter strap I tied him to the fence, and, sore all over and breathing hard from exertion, went back to discover what had become of Le Gaire.

The excitement of encounter had, for the instant, banished all recollection of the young woman hidden beneath the shadow of the grape arbor. My entire mind had concentrated on the fight, which, even now, might not be ended. I knew I had struck the fellow hard with the full, wide swing of the musket stock; I had both felt and heard the blow, and the impact had hurled him clear from the horse. Beyond doubt he was helpless, badly hurt perhaps, and there suddenly came to me a fear lest I had actually killed him. I had struck fiercely, impelled by the instinct to save myself, but I had had no desire to take the man's life. I had no reason to like Le Gaire; I believed him a bully, a disagreeable, boasting cur, but he was something to Willifred Hardy, and I could not afford to have his blood on my hands. I thought of her then, casting a swift glance back toward the shadows beyond the fence, and then went straight toward where the fellow lay, afraid to learn the truth, yet even more intensely afraid to again meet her without knowing. He had evidently fallen upon his shoulder, and still lay in a huddled heap. I had to straighten out his form before I was able to decide whether he was living or dead. I bent down, undoing his jacket, and placed my ear to his heart. It beat plainly enough, almost regularly—the man was alive; I doubted if he were even seriously injured. This discovery was such a relief that I muttered a "Thank God," and began rubbing his chest as though in effort to restore the fellow to consciousness. Then my senses came back, my realization of the situation. Let Le Gaire lie where he was; others would take care of him soon enough. I must get away; I could use his horse, pretend to be him, if necessary, and before daylight be safely across the river. I sought along the ground until I found the dropped revolver, thrust it into my belt, and ran over to where the horse was tied.

I had loosened the rein, my hand on the pommel, when the thought came that I must tell her first before I rode away. Even though the delay was a risk to us both, yet she must understand the truth, be informed of Le Gaire's condition, and why I had attacked him. At the instant this last seemed more important than all else. It would require but a moment, and then I could go, confident the man's injury would be no additional barrier between us, would never cause her to suspect that I had attacked him wantonly, actuated by personal motives. He might try to make her think so, if he were the kind I believed, his mind already suspicious of her interest in me. Her very sympathy for his wounds would make her easily influenced; this natural sympathy must not be inflamed by doubt of my motives and the thought that I had deliberately sought the man's life. It may have been two rods between the fence and the grape arbor, and I called to her softly.



CHAPTER XIV

ACROSS THE RIVER

She came toward me swiftly, slipping through the night like a shadow, instantly recognizing my voice.

"You—you are not hurt, Lieutenant Galesworth?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"No; merely bruised, and shaken up—the horse did that."

"Oh; was it you who had that struggle with the horse? I—I thought he would surely kill the man."

"The poor fellow was frightened," and I stroked his neck softly, "and certainly gave me a hard tussle. But that's all over now. I want to explain what has happened before I leave."

"Yes."

"I owe you that, do I not, wearing your colors?"

I could not perceive the expression of her face, but the tone of her voice was not altogether encouraging.

"They were but expressive of my best wishes; of course I wished you to succeed."

"I wonder—will you continue your good wishes after hearing my story?"

"What do you mean? You have not killed any one?"

"No; but I have hurt one who seems to have some claim upon you."

She drew in her breath quickly, clasping her hands.

"Who?—tell me! Can you mean Captain Le Gaire?"

"I regret to say 'yes'; this was his horse. Now don't blame me until you hear the whole story. I will tell it all in very few words, and then go."

"But—but you are sure he is not seriously hurt?"

"He may have a rib or collar-bone broken, and is still unconscious; nothing that will keep him out of mischief long. I wanted to tell you all about the affair myself—I don't trust Le Gaire."

"Why say that to me?"

"Because I must. If I understand the man the very first thing he will do will be to poison your mind against me—"

"He? Why?"

"Miss Hardy," I said soberly, "what use is there for us to play at cross-purposes? You realize that Captain Le Gaire suspects that you have an interest in me, that you have helped in my escape. He doesn't like me any the better for that. Men will do strange things when they are in love—such men as Le Gaire. Do you suppose I intend permitting him to thus influence you against me, when I am where I cannot defend myself?"

"But he would never do that; I am sure, he never would."

"Possibly not, but I prefer you should have my version to compare with what he may say. We have met strangely, in a manner which could only happen in time of war, and one day and two nights of adventure together have already made us better acquainted than would a year of ordinary social intercourse. I value your good wishes, and feel more gratitude than words can express. I am not going away leaving you to think me unworthy. I will tell you this exactly as it occurred, and you are to believe me, no matter what is said later."

My earnestness made an impression and as I paused her lips parted.

"Yes—I am going to believe you."

"I felt sure you would. Now listen, for I must be away, and Le Gaire attended to."

I told it simply, clearly, making no attempt except to bring out the important facts, realizing that her own imagination would supply the details. She clung to the fence, our eyes meeting as I spoke swiftly, making no comment until I concluded.

"Could I have done otherwise?"

"No; you are not to be blamed, but I am so sorry it happened to be Captain Le Gaire."

"You mean because—"

"He has been much to me," she interrupted, "perhaps still is, although—" she paused suddenly, catching her breath,—"yet this can make no difference."

"But it does."

She remained silent, and, I thought, drew slightly back.

"You do not wonder?" I asked, unable to restrain myself, "you do not ask why? May I not tell you?"

"I prefer you should not," very quietly. "I am not foolish enough to pretend that I do not understand. We are going to part now, and you will forget."

"Is it then so easy for you?"

"I need not confess, only I see how utterly foolish all this is. The conditions bringing us together in a few hours of intimacy have been romantic, and, perhaps, it is not strange that you should feel an interest in me. I—I hope you do, for I shall certainly always feel most kindly toward you, Lieutenant Galesworth. We are going to part as friends, are we not? You will remember me as a little Rebel who served you once, even against her conscience, and I will continue to think of you as a brave soldier and courteous gentleman. Isn't that worth while? Isn't it even better than dreaming an impossible dream?"

"But why impossible?"

"Surely you know."

"You mean Le Gaire?"

"I mean everything. Captain Le Gaire may be partially responsible, but there is much besides. Need we discuss this further?"

I should have hesitated, but I simply could not consent to be dismissed thus completely. Through the obscuring mist of the night I saw her face dimly, and it fascinated me. Behind the quiet decision of her voice there was a tremulousness which yielded courage. I could not part with her like this.

"Billie," I said, and she started at the familiarity of the name, "I am going to risk even your good opinion rather than leave in doubt. Don't treat me like a boy." Her hand was upon the fence, and I placed both of my own upon it. "Be honest with me. Forget the uniform, this sectional war, and let us simply be man and woman—can you not?"

She did not answer, her hand yet held in mine, so startled by my sudden outburst as to be helpless.

"I must know," I went on heedlessly, the very touch of her flesh making me reckless. Our position, the danger of the night, all vanished, and I saw only the whiteness of her face. Perhaps, had I been able to read her eyes, their expression might have served to curb my tongue, but nothing else could have held me silent. "I am going away, going into the lines of a hostile army; I may not reach there alive, and, if I do, I may fall in the first battle. I must tell you the truth first—I must. Don't call it foolish, for it is not. Dear, I may be a Yankee, but I am also a man, and I—"

"Oh, stop! please stop!" her fingers clasping me, her form closer. "I can not—I will not permit you to say this. I have no right. You have made me disloyal to my country; you shall not make me disloyal to all else. If I should listen I would have no self-respect left. For my sake be still, and go."

"But I know you are not indifferent; you cannot conceal the truth."

"Then be content, be satisfied, be generous."

"If you will only say one thing."

"What?"

"That I may come to you—after the war."

She stood a moment motionless, and then withdrew her hand.

"That would be equivalent to a hope which I cannot give," she returned soberly. "When the war ends I shall probably no longer be Willifred Hardy." My heart beat like a trip-hammer; I could hear it in the silence.

"The man yonder?"

She bent her head.

"You will not," my voice firm with swift conviction. "If that is all, I am not afraid. If you loved him would you be standing here even to say a word of farewell? Whatever pledge may be between you, on your part it is not love. You cannot deny this—not to me! Yes, and you are already beginning to know him. Remember, I have had to listen to some conversation between you—I know his style. Ah, yes, I will go, because I dare not keep you out here longer, but, if God lets me live, I am going to find you again. Yes, I am; don't doubt that, little girl. I could stand back for a real man, but not for Le Gaire; that's not in human nature. See, I have your ribbon yet, and am going to wear it."

"Without my permission?"

I reached out my arm and drew her gently against the fence barrier, so close I could look down into her eyes, gazing up into mine startled by the sudden movement.

"Lip permission, yes—I prefer to read consent elsewhere."

"And do you?"

"I shall believe I do. See, here is the ribbon; will you take it?"

"Of course not. Why should I care if you have that? It has no value to me. But I will not stay and talk longer. Let me go, Lieutenant! yes, you must. What shall I do to help—to help Gerald?"

"Go straight into the house, and report to the guard. You were walking in the garden for a breath of air, and overheard the struggle. They will find him. Good-bye, Billie."

I held out my hand, and she extended her own without a moment's hesitation.

"Good-bye," she said. "Shall I not wait here a few moments until you are across the road?"

I touched my lips to her fingers.

"What, with Gerald lying there!" happily. "Oh, Billie, are you so anxious as that for me to get safely away?"

"I—I am certainly not anxious to have you caught—not now. But you are almost impertinent; indeed you are. I cannot say a word you do not misinterpret. Please do not attempt to tease me; let us part friends."

The tone in which she said this meant far more than the mere words; I had ventured enough, and recognized the limitation to her patience. However strong her interest in me might already be, no acknowledgment was probable under present circumstances. I would but waste time, perhaps seriously injure my standing with her, were I to continue. The future must be left to work out its own miracle—to reveal her heart, and to prove the worthlessness of Le Gaire. For me to linger longer, holding her there in constant peril of discovery, would be simply madness.

I led the horse back, past where the disabled Confederate lay, pausing an instant to look down on the dim figure. He groaned, and turned partially over on one side, evidence that consciousness was returning. The man was not badly hurt, and I felt no deep regret at his condition. I could distinguish the narrow bridle path by my feet, and knew I would be less conspicuous out of the saddle. However, nothing opposed our progress, and we even succeeded in crossing the road without being observed. Here a long slope, rutted, and partially covered with low bushes, led directly down to the river, and we pushed through the tangle, keeping well hidden. Once on the bank of the stream all above was concealed from view, but I listened in vain for any sound indicative of pursuit. The night was mysteriously still, unbroken, even the air motionless. Obsessed now by the one controlling impulse to get away safely, I drove the horse into the water, and as he reached swimming depth, grasped a stirrup leather, and compelled him to strike out for the opposite shore. It was not a hard struggle, nor were we long at it, although the current was swift enough to bear us down a hundred feet, or more, before we struck bottom, wading out at the mouth of a small creek, the low banks offering some slight concealment. I looked back through the darkness, across the dim water, and up the shrouded hill on the opposite side. Lights were winking here and there like fire-flies. I stared at them, light-hearted, confident I had every advantage; then I patted the horse, and adjusted the stirrups.

"She waited until we were safe across, old fellow," I said, too pleased to remain still. "Now we'll ride for it."

He turned his head, and rubbed his nose along my arm. The next moment I was in the saddle, spurring him up the bank.



CHAPTER XV

I MEET AN EX-SLAVE

In this narrative of adventure it would but waste the reader's time to indulge in any extended description of military movements. The interest of my story centres around individuals rather than the great events of history, and I will touch these but briefly, so as to make the surrounding conditions sufficiently clear. It was noon the following day when I reached headquarters with my report, only to find that rumors of the combined movements of Johnston's and Beauregard's forces had already penetrated our lines. I could merely add details to the information previously received. The result was the immediate strengthening of our position to repel any possible attack. None occurred however, except desultory skirmishing. Later we learned the reason to be the failure of Chambers to appear, his march having been retarded by heavy rains.

At the end of this period of waiting our army was well prepared for action, the troops eager to test the strength of the enemy. Impatient of delay, and suspecting the probable cause of the Confederate quietness, we finally took the aggressive, determined to regain our former position south of the river. An. early morning attack won us the bridge and the town beyond, while heavy forces rushed the available fords, and after some severe fighting, obtained foothold on the opposite bank. Hastily throwing up intrenchments these advance troops succeeded in repulsing two charges before nightfall. This brought an end to hostilities. During the hours of darkness reinforcements were hurried across the stream. By dawn the opposing forces were about evenly mated, and every man in either line knew a battle was imminent.

In this emergency the need of every soldier was felt, and I was returned to my regiment for duty. We were the first to trot over the recaptured bridge, and through the deserted streets of the village. Impelled by a curiosity which could not be resisted I wheeled my horse and rode up the gravelled driveway to Judge Moran's door, but to my vigorous knocking there was no response. The shades were drawn at the windows, the house silent, and yet I felt convinced the old partisan was within, watching from some point of vantage. Yet if I believed this, the same silence and refusal to respond also served to convince me that Miss Hardy was no longer there. She was a vastly different type, and would exhibit interest even in the coming of the enemy. Ay! and she would have seen me, and not for one moment could I be made to believe that she would treat me with contempt.

I rode back slowly to rejoin the column of horsemen, glancing over my shoulder at the house, my mind busily occupied with the stirring events which had transpired there. She had gone with the Confederate troops, and had probably already been safely returned to her own home. Moran might have departed also, but more likely he remained to look after his property. I wondered who was her escort for the long ride—would it be Captain Le Gaire, sufficiently recovered from his injuries for this service, yet scarcely capable of active military duty? If so, he was with her still, a guest at "The Gables," sufficiently an invalid to be interesting, and to require attention, but with tongue in good repair. I was glad I had told my story first; the gentleman would experience some difficulty in changing Miss Willifred's opinion of the affair.

The gray dust cloud hung about us, almost obscuring the files of plodding troopers; to right and left the flankers showed dark against the green of the fields, and far in front an occasional carbine barked as some suspicious scout fired at a skulking figure. Once this would have been full of interest, but now it was mere routine, the sturdy veterans of the Ninth riding soberly forward, choked with dust, their hats drawn low over their eyes, wearied by a long night in the saddle. I glanced proudly down those ranks of fighting men, glad to be with them once again, but my thought drifted back to Billie, for this was the road we had travelled together. It seemed a long while ago, and much might happen before we should meet again, if ever we did. I might be killed in battle, or Le Gaire might insist upon an immediate marriage. This last was what I most feared, for I believed that if this could only be sufficiently delayed, she would learn to know the man better, and refuse to be sacrificed. The engagement rather mystified me, for it was clear enough no blind love on her part was responsible for its existence; at least she had begun to perceive his shallowness, and resented his attempt at bullying. I even began to believe that some one else had now come into her life, whose memory would serve to increase the feeling of dissatisfaction. Le Gaire was not the kind that wears well—he could not improve upon acquaintance; and, while I was no connoisseur of women, yet I could not persuade myself that her nature was patient enough not to revolt against his pretensions. I was no egotist, no lady-killer, but I recognized now that I loved this girl, and had read in her eyes the message of hope. Mine was, at least, a fighting chance, and fighting was my trade. I liked it better so, finding the lady more alluring because of the barrier between us, the zest of combat quickening my desire. Already I began to plan meeting her again, now that the campaign had turned our faces southward. Back beyond those wooded hills some freak of fate must lead me right, some swirl of fortune afford me opportunity. I was of the school of Hope, and Love yielded courage.

I looked back down the long hill, so silent and deserted that gray morning when we were driving together, but now dark with the solid masses of marching troops. It was a stirring scene to soldier eyes, knowing these men were pressing sternly on to battle. They seemed like a confused, disorganized mob, filling the narrow road, and streaming out through the fields; yet I could read the meaning of each detached movement, as cavalry, artillery, infantry, staff and wagon trains, met and separated, swinging into assigned positions, or making swift detour. Hoarse voices shouted; bugles pealed; there was the rumble of wheels, the pounding of hoofs, the tramp of feet, and over all the cloud of dust, through which the sun shone redly. The intense vividness of the picture gave me a new memory of war. Suddenly a battery of artillery, out of sight on the distant crest, opened fire, the shrieking shells plunging down into the ploughed field at our left, and casting the soft dirt high in air. Our advance spread wide into skirmish line, the black dots representing men flitting up the steep side of the hill, white spirals of smoke evidencing their musket fire. Behind them was a grim mass of infantry, silent and ominous, swinging forward like a huge snake. The men of the Ninth straightened up, their eyes glowing, but it was soon over with—the snake uncoiled, flinging a tail gleaming with steel over the ridge, and the troopers sank back wearily into their saddles.

As I turned again to glance over my shoulder I noticed a man riding at the right of the second file. His face was new to me, and so peculiar was it that I continued to stare, unable to determine whether the fellow was white or colored. He was in private's uniform, but carried no arms, and for head covering, instead of the hat worn by the Ninth, had an infantry cap perched jauntily on his curly black hair. But his face was clear, and his cheeks rosy, and he sat straight as an arrow in the saddle. I drew back my horse and ranged up beside him, inspired by curiosity. The eyes turned toward me undoubtedly betrayed negro blood.

"I do not remember seeing you before," I said, wiping the dust from my lips. "Are you a new recruit?"

"I'se Col'nel Cochran's man," he answered, without salute, but with the accent of education oddly mixed with dialect.

"Oh, I see—what has become of Sam?"

"He done took sick, an' de col'nel wanted a man right away, so he picked me."

"Did you belong around here?"

"Well, no, not exactly belong round yere, but I'se travelled dese parts some considerable. I was born down in Louisiana, sah."

"Not so very long ago either," I ventured, feeling a peculiar interest in the fellow. "Were you a slave?"

His rather thin lips closed over his white teeth, and his fingers gripped the saddle pommel.

"Yes,"—the word snapped out. "I'se nineteen, sah, an' my mother was a slave. I reckon my father was white 'nough, but that don't count fo' much—I'se a nigger just de same. Dat's bad 'nough, let me tell yo', but it's worse to be yo' own father's nigger."

I had nothing to say to this outburst, feeling that back of it were facts into which I had no right to probe, and we rode along quietly. Then he spoke, glancing aside at me:

"Dey won't be no 'portant fightin' long yere, sah, not fo' 'bout ten miles."

"How do you figure that out?"

"'Cause de lay ob de groun' ain't right, fo' one thing, an' 'cause all de Confed intrenchments was back yander."

"Yonder—where?"

"In behind de log church at de Three Corners—done know dat country mighty well."

I turned and faced him, instantly suspicious.

"Now see here; you do know that country, and a bit too well for a man riding in the ranks. Where did you come from? Were you in the Confederate service? Let's have this straight."

"Suah," with frankness. "I done tol' de col'nel all how it was. I was wid my Massa from Louisiana, an' he was a captain, sah! 'Bout two weeks ago he lef' me down yander on de pike wid orders fo' to stay dere till he done come back. But it wa'n't no job fo' me, sah, an' so I skipped out de first night, an' joined up wid de Yanks. I reckon I knows 'bout whar I belongs in dis yere fightin', an' I ain't nobody's slave no mor'."

The lad's earnestness impressed me, and beneath his words was evident a deep smouldering resentment, not so much against slavery as against the individual who had owned him.

"What is your name, my boy?"

"Charles Le Gaire, sah."



CHAPTER XVI

A CALL TO DUTY

The family name was an uncommon one, and, coupled as it was with "Louisiana," and the title "Captain," could refer only to Gerald Le Gaire. I wanted to question, the lad, but refrained, spurring my horse ahead so as to remove the temptation. Even the little already said plainly revealed that he resented bitterly his position in life, and determined to remain no longer in slavery to his own father. His father! That would be Le Gaire! The thought added fuel to the flame of dislike which I already cherished against the man. Of course legally this former relationship between master and slave meant nothing; it would be considered no bar to legitimate marriage; perhaps to one brought up in the environment of slavery it would possess no moral turpitude even, yet to me it seemed a foul, disgraceful thing. Whether it would so appear to Miss Willifred I could not even conjecture; she was of the South, with, all the prejudice and peculiarity of thought characteristic of her section. Pure-hearted, womanly, as I believed her to be, this earlier alliance still might not seem to her particularly reprehensible. Certainly it was not my part to bring it to her attention, or to utilize my knowledge of the situation to advance my cause, or injure Le Gaire. Nor would I question the ex-slave further; I already knew enough, too much possibly, although curiosity was not dormant, and I wondered what had become of the mother, and from what special cause had arisen the intense hatred in the heart of the son.

We rode steadily forward all day, under fire twice, and once charging a battery. All that opposed our advance however was a thin fringe of troops, intent merely upon causing delay, and making a brief stand, only to fall back promptly as soon as we flung forward any considerable body of men. By night-fall we had attained a position well within the bend of the river, the centre and left wing had achieved a crossing, and our entire line had closed up so as to display a solid front. The Ninth bivouacked in the hills, our rest undisturbed, except for the occasional firing of the pickets. With dawn we were under arms, feeling our way forward, and, an hour later, the two armies were face to face. Nearly evenly mated, fighting across a rough country, neither side could claim victory at the end of the day. While we on the right forced our line forward for nearly five miles, leaving behind us a carpet of dead, the left and centre met with such desperate resistance as to barely retain their earlier position. It required an hour of night fighting to close up the gap, and we slept on our arms, expecting an early morning assault. Instead of attempting this the enemy fell back to their second line of intrenchments, and, after waiting a day to determine their movements and strengthen our own line, we again advanced, feeling our way slowly in, but finally meeting with a resistance which compelled a halt.