The colonel of engineers did not delay me long, and, eager to be away, I made my necessary questions as brief as possible. Riding back through the encampment of troops, hampered more or less by the irregularity of the different commands, I had ample time in which to outline the night's adventure. I comprehended fully the danger of the mission, and that the probability was strongly against success. Reckless audacity, coupled with rare good fortune, might result in our return with the prisoner sought, but it was far more likely that we would be the ones captured, if we escaped with our lives. Yet this knowledge caused no hesitancy on my part; I was trained to obedience, and deep down in my heart welcomed the opportunity. The excitement appealed to me, and the knowledge that this service was to be performed directly under the eye of the great General of the West, was in itself an inspiration. If I lived to come back it meant promotion, the praise of the army, a line on the page of history--enough surely to arouse the ambition of youth.
It was early in the afternoon when I reached the position of my regiment, and reported to the colonel, asking the privilege of selecting a detail. Then, as I sat at mess, I studied my men, mentally picking from among them those best adapted to the desperate task. I chose those I had seen in action, young, unmarried fellows, and for "non-com," Sergeant Miles, a slender, silent man of thirty, in whom I had implicit confidence. I checked the names over, satisfying myself I had made no mistake. Leaving Miles to notify these fellows, and prepare them for service, I crossed to the colonel's tent in search of the ex-slave. He was easily found.
"Le Gaire," I began, choking a bit at the name, "do you remember a big white house, on the right of the pike, the first beyond a log church, south from the Three Corners?"
He looked up from his work with sparkling eyes.
"I suah does; I reckon I could find dat place in de dark."
"Well, that is exactly what I want you to do, my man. I have some work to do there to-night."
"How yo' goin' to git dar?"
I explained about the ravine, the positions of the Confederate lines, and where I understood the special guards were stationed. The boy listened in silence, his fingers, clinching and unclinching, alone evidencing excitement.
"Will that plan work?" I asked, "or can you suggest any better way?"
"I reckon it'll work," he admitted, "if yo' don't git cotched afore yo' git dar. I knows a heap 'bout dat ravine; I'se hunted rabbits dar many a time, an' it ain't goin' to be no easy job gittin' through dar in de dark."
"Will you show us the way?"
"Well, I don't just know," scratching his head thoughtfully. "Maybe de col'nel wouldn't let me."
"I can arrange that."
"Den I don't want fo' to go to dat house; dat's whar I run away from."
"But I thought you belonged to the Le Gaires of Louisiana?"
"Dat's what I did, sah; but I done tol' yo' I come up yere wid de army. I was left dere till de captain come back; dose folks was friends o' his."
"Oh, I see; well, will you go along as far as the end of the ravine?"
He looked out over the hills, and then back into my face, his eyes narrowing, his lips setting firm over the white teeth. I little realized what was taking place in the fellow's brain, what real motive influenced his decision, or the issues involved.
"I reckon I will, sah, providin' de col'nel says so." There was, of course, no difficulty in obtaining the consent of that officer, and by nine o'clock we were ready to depart, ten picked men, young, vigorous lads, though veterans in service, led by Miles, together with the negro Le Gaire and myself. Taking a lesson from the guerillas we were armed only with revolvers, intending to fight, if fight we must, at close quarters; and the brass buttons, and all insignia of rank liable to attract attention had been removed from our blouses. Upon our heads we wore slouch hats. I had decided to make the attempt on foot, as we could thus advance in greater silence. Without attracting attention, or starting any camp rumor, we passed, two by two, out beyond the pickets, and made rendezvous on the bank of the river. It was a dark night. As soon as the sergeant reported all were present, I led the way up stream for perhaps a mile until we came to the mouth of the ravine. Here I called them around me, barely able to distinguish the dim figures, although within arm's length, explained my plans and gave strict orders. As I ceased speaking I could plainly hear their suppressed breathing, so deathly still was the night.
"If any man has a question, ask it now."
No one spoke, although several moved uneasily, too nervous to remain still.
"Le Gaire, here, will go first, as he knows the way, and I will follow him; the rest drop in in single file, with the sergeant at the rear. Keep close enough to distinguish the man in front, and be careful where you put your feet. No noise, not a word spoken unless I pass back an order; then give it to the next man in a whisper. Don't fire under any conditions except by command." I paused, then added slowly: "You are all intelligent enough to know the danger of our expedition, and the necessity of striking quick and hard. Our success, our very lives, depend on surprise. If each one of you does exactly as I order, we've got a chance to come back; if not, then it means a bullet, or a prison, for all of us. Are you ready?"
I heard the low responses, and counted them--ten, the negro not answering.
"All right, men," then, my voice hardening into a threat: "Now go ahead, Le Gaire, and remember I am next behind, and carry a revolver in my hand. Make a wrong move, lad, and you'll never make another."
I could faintly discern the whites of his eyes, and heard one of the men snicker nervously.
"Lead off! Fall in promptly, men."
It was a rocky cleft through the hills, perhaps a hundred yards wide here where it opened on the river, with a little stream in its centre fringed with low trees, but narrowing gradually, and becoming blocked with underbrush as it penetrated deeper into the interior. For a mile or more the course was not entirely unknown to me, although the darkness obscured all familiar landmarks. The negro, however, apparently possessed the instinct of an animal, or else had night eyes, for he never hesitated, keeping close along the edge of the stream. The tree-branches brushed our faces, but our feet pressed a well defined path. Farther in, the shadows becoming more dense, this path wound about crazily, seeking the level spots; yet Le Gaire moved steadily forward, his head lowered, and I kept him within reach of my arm, barely able to distinguish the cautious tread of feet behind. Clearly enough he knew the way, and could follow it with all the certainty of a dog. Relieved as to this, and confident the fellow dare not play us false, I could take notice of other things, and permit my thoughts to wander. There was little to be seen or heard; except for the musical tinkle of the stream, all to the right was silence, but from the other side there arose an occasional sound, borne faintly from a distance--a voice calling, the blare of a far-off bugle, the echo of a hammer pounding on iron. Once through the obscuring branches the fitful yellow of a camp-fire was dimly visible, but the ravine twisted so that I could not determine whether this was from Federal or Confederate lines. Anyhow no eye saw us creep past, and no suspicious voice challenged. Indeed we had every reason to believe the ravine unguarded, although pickets were undoubtedly patrolling the east bank, and there were places we must go close in under its shadow.
So intent had I been upon this adventure, my mind concentrated on details, that the personal equation had been entirely forgotten. But now I began to reflect along that line, yet never for a moment forgetting our situation, or its peril. I was going down into the neighborhood where Willifred Hardy lived--to which she had probably already returned. I was going as an enemy to her cause, guided by an ex-slave of Le Gaire's. It was rather an odd turn of Fate's wheel, and, while there was no probability of our meeting, yet the conditions were suggestive. My eyes were upon the dim form in advance, and I was strongly tempted to ask if he knew where Major Hardy's plantation was. Beyond doubt he did, but this was no time for dalliance with love, and I drove the temptation sternly from me, endeavoring to concentrate my mind on present duty. But in spite of all Billie would intervene, her blue-gray eyes challenging me to forget, and the remembrance of her making my step light. I was going to be near her again, at least, if only for an hour; perhaps, whether I succeeded or failed, she would hear my name mentioned. Even that would be better than forgetfulness, and she was one to appreciate a deed like this. I should like to see her eyes when they told her--when they spoke my name. I wondered where Captain Le Gaire was, and whether he had been her escort back through the Confederate lines. Most probably yes, and perhaps he had remained at the Hardy house, still incapacitated from duty by the blow I had struck him--an interesting invalid. Even this thought did not trouble me as it might have done otherwise, for I believed Billie had already begun to see the real man behind the fellow's handsome face; if so, then time and companionship would only widen the breach between them--perhaps my memory also.
It was a hard three hours' travel, practically feeling a passage through the darkness, for the narrow path extended but little beyond a mile, after losing which we stumbled forward through a maze of rock and underbrush. This finally became so dense that the negro veered to the left, where there was a grassy ledge, along which we made more rapid progress, although facing greater danger of discovery. However, the night was black, and to any picket looking down from above the ravine must have appeared a dark, impenetrable void, while our feet in the grass scarcely made a sound. Once we saw a moving figure above us, barely visible against the sky-line, and halted breathlessly, every eye uplifted, until the apparition vanished; and once, warned by the cracking of a twig, we lay flat on our faces while a spectral company went past us on foot, heading at right-angles across our path. I counted twenty men in the party, but could distinguish nothing as to uniform or equipment. We waited motionless until the last straggler had disappeared. By this time we were well behind the Confederate lines, with troops probably on either side, for this gash in the surface had both narrowed and veered sharply to the east. It still remained sufficiently deep to conceal our movements, and, as we had circled the picket lines, we could proceed with greater confidence. We were beyond the vigilance of sentinels, and could be discovered now only through some accidental encounter. I touched Le Gaire on the shoulder, and whispered in his ear:
"How much farther is it?"
"'Bout half a mile, sah," staring about into what to me was impenetrable darkness. "Yo' see de forked tree dar on de lef'?"
I was not sure, yet there was something in that direction which might be what he described.
"I guess so--why?"
"I 'members dat tree, for dar's a spring just at de foot ob it."
"Is the rest of the way hard?"
"No, sah, not wid me goin' ahead of yo', for dar's a medium good path from de spring up to de top o' de hill. I'se pow'ful feared though we might run across some ob dem Confed sojers 'round yere."
I tried to look at him, but could see only the whites of his eyes, but his voice somehow belied his words--to my mind there was no fear in the fellow. I passed back word along the line, and found all the men present. Not a sound came out of the night, and I ordered the ex-slave to lead on.
It was a little gully, hardly more than a tramped footpath, leading down the bank up which we crept until we attained the level. With eyes sharpened by the long night vigil we could perceive the dim outlines of buildings, and a glow or two of distant lights. I felt of the face of my watch, deciding the time to be not far from half-past twelve. Our tramp had seemed longer than a trifle over three hours, and it was a relief to know we still had so much of darkness left in which to operate. I touched the man lying next me, unable to tell one dark form from another.
"Who are you?"
"Wilson, sir."
"Where is the guide?"
"Right yere, sah," and the speaker wriggled toward me on his face. "Dis yere is de place."
"I supposed so, but it is all a mere blur out there to me. What are these buildings just ahead of us?"
"De slave quarters, sah; dey's all deserted, 'cept maybe dat first one yonder," pointing. "I reckon Aunt Mandy an' her ol' man are dar yet, but de field hands dey all done cleared out long time ago. De stable was ober dar toward de right, whar dat lantern was dodgin' 'round. Yo' creep 'long yere, an' I'll point out de house--see, it's back o' de bunch o' trees, whar de yaller light shows in de winder. I reckon dar's some of 'em up yet."
From his description I received a fair impression of the surroundings, questioning briefly as I stared out at the inanimate objects faintly revealed, and endeavoring to plan some feasible course of action. The stable was a hundred yards to the rear of the house, a fenced-off garden between, the driveway circling to the right. Between the slave quarters and the mansion extended an orchard, the trees of good size and affording ample cover. We were to the left of the house, and the light seen evidently streamed through one of the windows of the front room. Where the guard was stationed no one of us could guess, yet this had to be determined first of all. I called for Miles, and the sergeant, still holding his position at the rear, crept forward.
"I am going in closer to discover what I can," I said quietly. "I may be gone for half an hour. Advance your men carefully into the shadow of that cabin there, and wait orders. Don't let them straggle, for I want to know where they are." I bent lower and whispered in his ear, "Don't let that negro out of your sight; but no shooting--rap him with a butt if necessary. You understand?"
"Sure; I'll keep a grip on his leg."
I paused an instant thinking.
"If luck helps me to get inside, and I find the way clear, I'll draw that shade up and down twice--this way--and you can come on. Move quickly, but without noise, and wait outside for orders, unless you are certain I am in trouble."
"Yes, sir; we'll be there."
"Have one man watch that light all the time; don't let him take his eyes off it. Be careful no prowling trooper stumbles on you; keep the men still."
I saw the dim movement as he saluted and felt no doubt of obedience,--he was too old and tried a soldier to fail. I crept forward, scouted about the cabin to make sure it was unoccupied, and then advanced into the shadows of the orchard. I was all nerves now, all alertness, every instinct awake, seeing the slightest movement, hearing the faintest noise. There were voices--just a mumble--in the direction of the stable, and, as I drew in closer toward the house I could distinguish sounds as though a considerable party were at table--yet even the tinkle of knife and plate was muffled; probably the dining-room was on the opposite side. However, this would seem to indicate the presence of the one we sought, although so late a supper would render our task more difficult of execution. I was tempted to try the other side first, but the open window with the light burning inside was nearer, and I wished first to assure myself as to that. I could see no sentries, but the embers of a fire were visible on the front driveway. Whatever guard might be about the steps, none patrolled this side; I must have waited several minutes, lying concealed in the dense shrubbery, peering and listening, before becoming fully convinced. The omission brought a vague suspicion that Johnston might not be present after all--that this was instead a mere party of convivial officers. If so, the sooner I could convince myself the better, to make good our safe return. The thought urged me forward.
A small clump of low bushes--gooseberries, I judged from the thorns--was within a few yards of the house, the balance of the distance a closely trimmed turf. The bottom of the window through which the light shone was even with my eyes when standing erect, but I could perceive no movement of any occupants, a small wooden balcony, more for ornament than for practical use, shutting off the view. I grasped the rail of this with my hands and drew my body slowly up, endeavoring to keep to one side out of the direct range of light. This effort yielded but a glimpse of one corner of the seemingly deserted interior, and I crouched down within the rail, cautiously seeking to discover more. Fortunately the wooden support did not creak under my weight. The apartment was apparently parlor and sitting-room combined, some of the furniture massive and handsome, especially the centre-table and a sofa of black walnut, but there was also a light sewing-table and a cane-seated rocker, more suggestive of comfort. At first glance I thought the place empty, although I could plainly hear the murmuring sound of voices from beyond; then I perceived some one--a woman-- seated on a low stool before the open fire-place. She sat with back toward me, her head bent upon one hand. I was still studying the figure in uncertainty when a door, evidently leading into the hall, opened and a man entered. He was in Confederate field uniform, the insignia on his collar that of a major,--a tall, broad-shouldered man, with abundant hair and an aggressive expression. The woman glanced up, but he closed the door, shutting out a jangle of voices, before speaking.
"What was it? You sent for me?"
She rose to her feet, and came a step forward,--my heart leapt into my throat, my fingers gripped the rail.
"Yes," she said quietly, looking into his face, "I have decided I cannot do it."
"Decided! What now?" and his surprise was beyond question. "Why, what does all this mean? No one has sought to coerce or drive you; this was your own choice. Surely you have had ample time in which to consider!"
"Oh, yes," wearily, her hand pressing back her hair, "but--but I really never understood myself until to-night; I am not sure I do even now."
"A girlish whim," he broke in impatiently. "Why, daughter, this is foolish, impossible; all arrangements are made, and even now they are toasting the captain in the dining-room. Under no other conditions could he have got leave of absence, for his injuries are trivial. Johnston told me as much before he left, and I know we shall need every man to-morrow if we force the fighting."
"Why does he accept leave then, if he is needed here?" she asked quickly.
"For your sake and mine, not fear of battle, I am sure. There will be no heavy action at this end of our line, as we shall fall back to protect the centre. But the movement as contemplated will leave all this ground to be occupied by the Yankees; they'll be here by to-morrow night beyond doubt; even now we retain only a skeleton force west of the pike. I cannot leave you here alone, unprotected."
"Is that why you have pressed me so to assent to this hurried arrangement?"
"Yes, Billie," and he took her hands tenderly. "Captain Le Gaire suggested it as soon as we learned this region was to be left unguarded, and when he succeeded in getting leave to go south it seemed to me the very best thing possible for you. Why, daughter, I do not understand your action--by having the ceremony to-night we merely advance it a few months."
"But--father," her voice trembling, "I--I am not so sure that I wish to marry Captain Le Gaire at--at all."
"Not marry him! Why, I supposed that was settled--you seemed very happy--"
"Yes, once," she broke in. "I thought I loved him--perhaps I did--but he has not appeared the same man to me of late. I cannot explain; I cannot even tell what it is I mean, but I am afraid to go on. I want more time to decide, to learn my own heart."
"You poor little girl, you are nervous, excited."
"No, it is not that, papa. I simply doubt myself, my future happiness with this man. Surely you will not urge me to marry one I do not love?"
"No, girlie; but this decision comes so suddenly. I had believed you very happy together, and even to-night, when this plan was first broached, there was no word of protest uttered. I thought you were glad."
"Not glad! I was stunned, too completely surprised to object. You all took my willingness so for granted that I could find no words to express my real feelings. Indeed I do not believe I knew what they were--not until I sat here alone thinking, and then there came to me a perfect horror of it all. I tried to fight my doubts, tried to convince myself that it was right to proceed, but only to find it impossible. I loathe the very thought; if I consent I know I shall regret the act as long as I live." "But, Billie," he urged earnestly, "what can have occurred to make this sudden change in you? Captain Le Gaire belongs to one of the most distinguished families of the South; is wealthy, educated, a polished gentleman. He will give you everything to make life attractive. Surely this is but a mere whim!"
"Have you found me to be a nervous girl, full of whims?"
"No, certainly not, but--"
"And this is no whim, no mood. I cannot tell, cannot explain all that has of late caused me to distrust Captain Le Gaire, only I do not feel toward him as I once did. I never can again, and if you insist on this marriage, it will mean to me unhappiness--I am, sure of that."
"But what can we do at this late hour! Everything is prepared, arranged for; even the minister has arrived, and is waiting."
She stood before him, her hands clasped, trembling from head to foot, yet with eyes determined.
"Will you delay action a few moments, and send Captain Le Gaire to me? I--I must see him alone."
He hesitated, avoiding her eyes and permitting his glance to wander about the room.
"Please do this for me."
"But in your present mood--"
"I am perfectly sane," and she stood straight before him, insistent, resolute. "Indeed I think I know myself better than for months past. I shall say nothing wrong to Captain Le Gaire, and if he is a gentleman he will honor me more for my frankness. Either you will send him here to me, or else I shall go to him."
The major bowed with all the ceremony of the old school, convinced of the utter futility of further argument.
"You will have you own way; you always have," regretfully. "I shall request the captain to join you here."
He left the room reluctantly enough, pausing at the door to glance back, but she had sunk down into the rocker, and made no relenting sign. Every sense of right compelled me to withdraw; I could not remain, a hidden spy, to listen to her conversation with Le Gaire. My heart leaped with exultation, with sudden faith that possibly her memory of me might lie back of this sudden distrust, this determination for freedom. Yet this possibility alone rendered impossible my lingering here to overhear what should pass between them in confidence. Interested as I was personally I possessed no excuse to remain; every claim of duty was elsewhere. I had already learned General Johnston was not present, and that an attack was projected against our left and centre. This was news of sufficient importance to be reported at headquarters without delay. To be sure the withdrawal of troops from this end of the Confederate line made our own return trip less dangerous, still, even if I ventured to remain longer, I must early despatch a courier with the news.
I drew silently back from the window, flinging one limb over the balcony rail, preparing to drop to the ground below. Her back was toward me, and she heard nothing; then a man came round the end of the house, walking slowly and smoking. I could see the red glow of his cigar, and inhale the fragrance of the tobacco. I hung on desperately, bending my body along the rail, and he passed directly beneath, yet so shadowed I could merely distinguish his outline. The fellow--an officer, no doubt, seeking a breath of fresh air--strolled to the opposite corner, and then turned off into the orchard. I dared not risk an attempt to drop and run, for I knew not what might await me in the darkness. Yet where I clung I was exposed to discovery, and, when he turned his back, I sank down once more within the shelter of the balcony. He stopped under the trees, apparently having found a seat of some kind, although I could see nothing except the tip of the burning cigar, as he flipped aside the ashes. I had almost forgotten what might be occurring within, until aroused by the sound of Le Gaire's voice.
He certainly looked a handsome fellow, standing there with hand still on the knob of the door, dressed in a new uniform tailored to perfection, his lips and eyes smiling pleasantly, never suspecting the reason for which he was summoned.
"What is it, Billie?" he asked easily. "A last word, hey?"
"Yes," she answered, lifting her eyes to his face, but not advancing. "I--I have been thinking it all over while waiting here alone, and--and I find I am not quite ready. I sent for you to ask release from my promise, or, at least, that you will not insist upon our--our marriage to-night."
The man's dark face actually grew white, his surprise at this request leaving him gasping for breath, as he stared at her.
"Why, good God, girl, do you realize what you are saying?" he exclaimed, all self-control gone. "Why, we are ready now; Bradshaw just arrived and every arrangement has been made for our journey. It cannot be postponed."
"Oh, yes, indeed, it can," and she rose, facing him. "Surely you would not force me against my will, Captain Le Gaire? I do not desire to rebel, to absolutely refuse, but I hope you will listen to me, and then act the part of a gentleman. I presume you desire me for your wife, not your slave."
I thought he had lost his voice he was so long in answering; then the tones were hoarse, indistinct.
"Listen! Yes! I want you to explain; only don't expect too much from me."
She looked directly at him, her cheeks flushing to the insolence of his accent.
"I am hardly likely to err in that way any more," rather coldly, "but I do owe you an explanation. I have done wrong to permit this affair to go so far without protest, but I did not comprehend my own feelings clearly until to-night. I merely drifted without realizing the danger, and now the shock of discovery leaves me almost helpless. I realize distinctly only one thing--I can not, I will not, marry you.
"Do these words seem cruel, unjust?" she went on, strangely calm. "Perhaps they are, yet it is surely better for me to speak them now than to wreck both our lives by remaining silent longer. You came to me a year ago, Captain Le Gaire, at a time when I was particularly lonely, and susceptible to kindness. You were an officer in the army, fighting for a cause I loved, and your friendly attentions were very welcome. My father liked you, and we were constantly thrown together. I have lived rather a secluded life, here on this plantation since my school days, meeting few men of my own station, and still young enough to be romantic. I thought I loved you, and perhaps the feeling I cherished might have truly become love had you always remained the same considerate gentleman I first believed you to be. Instead, little by little, I have been driven away, hurt by your coarseness, your lack of chivalry, until now, when it comes to the supreme test, I find my soul in revolt. Am I altogether to blame?"
I do not think he comprehended, grasped the truth she sought to convey, for he broke forth angrily:
"Very pretty, indeed! And do you think I will ever stand for it? Why, I should be the laughing stock of the army, a butt for every brainless joker in the camp. I am not such a fool, my girl." He stepped forward, grasping her hands, and holding them in spite of her slight effort to break away. "I am a frank-spoken man, yes, but I have never failed to treat you with respect."
"You may call it that, but you have repeatedly sworn in my presence, have ordered me harshly about, have even arranged this affair without first consulting me. If this be your manner before marriage, what brand of brutality could I expect after?"
"Poof! I may be quick-tempered; perhaps we are neither of us angels, but you choose a poor time for a quarrel. Come, Billie, let's kiss and make up. What! Still angry? Surely you are not in earnest?"
"But I am--very much in earnest."
"You mean to throw me down? Now at the last moment, with all the fellows waiting in the next room?"
She had her hands freed, and with them held behind her, stood motionless facing him.
"Would you marry me against my wish?" she asked. "Would you hold me to a promise I regret having made? I sent for you merely to tell you the truth, to throw myself on your generosity. I am scarcely more than a girl, Captain Le Gaire, and acknowledge I have done wrong, have been deceived in my own feelings. You have my word--the word of a Hardy--and we keep our pledges. I suppose I must marry you if you insist, but I implore you as a man of honor, a Southern gentleman, to release me."
Her voice faltered, and Le Gaire laughed.
"Oh, I begin to see how the wind blows. You do stand to your promise then. Very well, that's all I ask."
"I do not love you; I do not think I even respect you."
"Nevertheless you cannot shake me off like that. It's only a whim, a mood, Billie; once married I'll teach you the lesson over again. You were loving enough a month ago."
"I was in the midst of a girl's dream," she said slowly, "from which I have awakened--won't you release me, Captain Le Gaire?"
"I should say not," walking savagely across the room. "Come, Billie, I'm tired of this tantrum. A little of this sort of thing goes a long way with me. You're a headstrong, spoiled girl, and I've already put up with enough to try the patience of Job. Now I'm going to show my authority, insist on my rights. You've promised to marry me, now, to-night, and you are going to do it, if I have to go to your father and tell him plainly just what is the matter with you."
"With me! the only matter is that I have ceased to care for you."
"Yes, in the last week! Do you think I am blind? Do you suppose I don't know what has changed your mind so suddenly? Do you imagine I'm going to let you go for the sake of a damned Yankee?"
She fairly gasped in surprise, her fingers clinched, her cheeks flaming.
"A Yankee! Captain Le Gaire, are you crazy?"
"No," his temper bursting all control. "That's what's the matter with you. Oh, of course, you'll deny, and pretend to be horrified. I saw into your little game then, but I kept still; now you are carrying it too far."
"What do you mean? I am not accustomed to such language."
"I mean this: You think you are in love with that sneaking Yankee spy--I don't know his name--the fellow you helped through our lines, and then hid at Moran's. Now don't deny it; I asked some questions before I left there, and you were with him out under the grape arbor. I saw the imprint of your feet in the soft dirt. By God, I believe you knew he struck me, and permitted me to lie there while he got away."
"Captain Le Gaire--"
"Now you wait; this is my turn to talk. You thought you had fooled me, but you had not. Under other conditions I might accede to your request, but not now--not to give you over to a Yank. I've got your promise, and I propose to hold you to it."
"But it is not that," she protested. "I--I am not in love with Lieutenant Galesworth."
"So that is the fellow's name, is it--Galesworth," sneeringly. "I thought you pretended before you did not know."
She remained silent, confused.
"I'm glad to know who he is; some day we may have a settlement. Well, all I know about the affair is this, but that's enough--you rode with him all one night, hid him all the next day, and then helped him escape. You lied to me repeatedly, and now you want to break away from me at the last minute. It's either this Galesworth or somebody else--now who is it?"
Billie sank back into a chair, but with her eyes still on the man's face.
"It is no--one," she said wearily. "It is not that at all; I--I simply do not care for you in that way any longer."
"Poof! do you mean you won't keep your word?"
"I mean I want to be released--at least a postponement until I can be sure of myself."
"And I refuse--refuse, do you understand that? You either marry me to-night or I go to your father with the whole story. He'll be pleased to learn of your affair with a Yankee spy, no doubt, and of how you helped the fellow through our lines. And I've got the proofs too. Now, young lady, it is about time to stop this quarrel, and come down to facts. What are you going to do?"
"You insist?"
"Of course I do."
Her head sank upon her hand, and even from where I peered in upon them, helpless to get away, equally helpless to aid, I could see her form tremble.
"Then there is no escape, I suppose; I must keep my promise."
He touched her on the shoulder, indifferent to her shrinking away, a sarcastic smile on his lips.
"I knew you would. I don't take this Yankee business seriously, only I wanted you to know I understood all about it. You're too sensible a girl to get tangled up that way. We'll drop it now, and I'll show you how good I can be. May I kiss you?"
"I--I would rather not--not yet. Don't be angry, but I--I am not myself. Where were you going?"
"To tell your father it is all settled. You must be ready when we come back."
He paused with hand on the door looking back at her. There was a moment's breathless silence; then her lips whispered:
"Yes."
I turned to look out into the black orchard, and then gazed back into the lighted room. I knew not what to do, how to act. My remaining where I was could be of no possible service to her, indeed my discovery there would only add to her embarrassment, yet I had no reason to believe the officer had left his seat yonder, and therefore dare not drop to the ground. My heart ached for the girl, and I longed to get my hands on that cur of a Le Gaire, yet might venture to approach neither. It was a maddening situation, but I could only stand there in the dark, gripping the rail, unable to decide my duty. Perhaps she did love me--in spite of that vigorous denial, perhaps she did--and the very possibility made the blood surge hot through my veins. Could I help her in any way? Whatever her feeling toward me might be, there remained no question as to her growing dislike for Le Gaire. Not fear, but a peculiar sense of honor alone, held her to her pledge. And could I remain still, and permit her to be thus ruthlessly sacrificed? Would Major Hardy permit it if he knew?--if the entire situation was explained to him? Le Gaire never would tell him the truth, but would laugh off the whole affair as a mere lovers' quarrel. Could I venture to thrust myself in? If I did, would it be of any use? It would cost me my liberty, and the liberty of my men; probably I should not be believed. And would she ever forgive me for listening? I struggled with the temptation--swayed by duty and by love--until my heart throbbed in bewilderment. Then it was too late. Fate, tired of hesitancy, took the cards out of my hands.
Billie had been sitting, her head bowed on the table, the light above glistening on her hair. Suddenly she arose to her feet, her face white and drawn, her hands extended in a gesture of disgust. Attracted by the open window, and the black vista of night beyond, she stepped through onto the balcony, and stood there, leaning against the rail.
I remained there, pressed into one corner, unable to move, scarcely venturing to breathe, her skirt brushing my leg, the strands of her hair, loosened by the night wind, almost in my face. She was gazing straight out into the night, utterly unconscious of my presence, so deeply buried in her own trouble that all else seemed as nothing. For a moment she remained motionless, silent; then her hands pressed against her forehead, and her lips gave utterance to a single exclamation:
"Oh, God! I can never, never stand it! What shall I do?"
Perhaps I moved, perhaps some sense of the occult revealed my presence, for she turned swiftly, with a sharp gasp of the breath, and looked straight into my eyes. The recognition was instant, bewildering, a shock which left her speechless, choking back the cry of alarm which rose into her throat. She gripped the rail and stared as though at a ghost.
"Don't cry out," I entreated quickly. "Surely you know whom I am."
"Yes, yes," struggling to regain her voice. "I--know; but why are you here? How long have you been here?"
"It is a story too complex to repeat," I said earnestly, "but I have been here since your father first came--don't blame me, for I couldn't get away."
"Then--then you heard--"
"Yes; I heard everything. I tried not to; I pledge you my word it was all an accident. I was here for another purpose, a military purpose. I did not even know this was your home. I am trapped on this balcony, and dare not attempt to get away--I had to listen. You will believe what I say?"
I was pleading so desperately that she stopped me, one hand grasping my sleeve.
"Yes, of course. I am sure you could never do that purposely. But I do not know what to say, how to explain. You must go at once. Can you not realize my position if you are discovered here? What--what Captain Le Gaire would say?"
"Very easily," my voice insensibly hardening at the memory, "and I should like to remain to meet him, if that were the only danger. No, please stand exactly where you are, Miss Hardy, so as to keep me in the shadow. Thank you. There is a man sitting on a bench yonder just within the orchard. He has been there for the last twenty minutes, and it is his presence which has made it impossible for me to get away. Can I escape in any manner through the house?"
She shook her head, her glance wandering from the lighted room out again into the night.
"No; there is only the one door."
"Who are here besides Le Gaire and your father?"
"A half-dozen officers, two from the Louisiana regiment, the rest belonging to the staff; they are just ending up a feast in the dining-room."
"And is the house under guard?"
She hesitated, looking me now squarely in the eyes, her face clearly revealed as the light from within fell upon it.
"Why do you ask?--for military reasons?"
"No; that is all passed and gone. We came hoping to capture General Johnston, as scouts informed us this was his headquarters for the night. But he is not here, and you will do your cause no harm by telling me all I ask."
"I do not think there are any guards posted," she answered, convinced that I spoke the truth. "I have not been out, but I am sure there are no soldiers about the place, except the officers' servants at the stable with the horses. The general departed before dark, and took his bodyguard with him."
She had no reason to deceive me, and her sincerity was beyond question. This was better than I had dared hope, and instantly a new plan leaped into my mind, the very audacity of which made me gasp. Yet it might work, carried out with sufficient boldness, although only to be resorted to as a last desperate necessity. As I stood there, revolving this new thought swiftly through my mind, the old fear seemed to return to her.
"Did--did you hear--everything?" she asked again.
"I am afraid I did," I confessed humbly, "but I am going to forget."
"No, that is not necessary. I am not sure I am altogether sorry that you overheard."
"But I am--at least, a part of what I overheard struck me rather hard."
"What was that?"
"Your reference to me. Billie, I had been dreaming dreams."
Her eyes dropped, the long lashes shading them.
"But I had previously warned you," she said at last, very soberly. "You knew how impossible such a thought was; you were aware of my engagement."
"Yes, and I also knew Le Gaire. All I hoped for was time, sufficient time for you to discover his character. He is no bug-a-boo to me any longer, nor shall any tie between you keep me from speaking. As I have told you I did not come here expecting to meet you--not even knowing this was your home--yet you have been in my mind all through the night, and what has occurred yonder between you and that fellow has set me free. Do you know what I mean to do?"
"No, of course not; only--"
"Only I must believe what you said about me to him; only I must continue to respect an agreement which has been wrung out of you by threat. I refuse to be bound. I know now the one thing I wanted most to know, Billie--that you do not love him. Oh, you can never make me think that again--"
"Stop!" and she was looking straight at me again. "I shall listen to you no longer, Lieutenant Galesworth. I cannot deny the truth of much which you have said, but it is not generous of you to thus take advantage of what was overheard. It was merely a quarrel, and not to be taken seriously. He is coming back, and--and I am going to marry him."
There was a little catch in her voice, yet she finished the sentence bravely enough, flinging the words at me in open defiance.
"When? To-night?"
"Yes, immediately, as soon as Captain Le Gaire can confer with my father."
I smiled, not wholly at ease, yet confident I knew her struggle.
"You might deceive some one else, Miss Billie," I said quietly, "and perhaps if I were not here this programme might indeed be carried out--I believe Le Gaire is cur enough to insist upon it. But I am here, and you are not going to marry him, unless you tell me with your own lips that you love the man."
She stared into my eyes, as though doubting my sanity.
"Will you consent to say that?"
"I deny your right to even ask."
"Yet I shall take silence as a negative, and act accordingly. No, you will not hate me for it; you may imagine you do for the moment, but the time will come when your heart will thank me for interference, for saving you from a foolish sacrifice. You do not love Le Gaire; you cannot look me in the eyes and say that you do."
"You are impertinent, ungentlemanly. I simply refuse to answer a question you have no right to ask."
"I assume the right in accordance with a law as old as man."
"What law?"
"The law of love," I returned earnestly, "the love of a man for the one woman."
I could see her slight form sway as the full significance of these words came to her; her cheeks flamed, but there was no shadowing of her eyes.
"I am going in, Lieutenant Galesworth," she said finally, drawing back to the open window. "You have forgotten yourself, forgotten the respect due me."
"But I have not, Billie," and in my earnestness I neglected all caution, stepping forward into the full glare of light. "The highest respect is the basis of true love, and, little girl, I love you."
She clung to the frame of the window, rendered speechless by my audacity, struggling with herself.
"Oh, don't say that! I cannot listen; I must not. Believe me, Lieutenant Galesworth, I do not altogether blame you, for I have been indiscreet, foolish. I--I have not meant to be; I merely endeavored to prove kind and friendly, never once dreaming it would come to this. Now it must end, absolutely end; even if you despise me for a heartless coquette, there is no other way. My path is laid out for me, and I must walk in it. It may not be altogether pleasant, but I made my choice, and it is too late now for retreat. I want you to help me, not make it any harder."
"By going away, you mean? By leaving you to be coerced?"
"I was not coerced; it was my own free choice."
We were both so interested as to forget everything except ourselves, utterly oblivious to the situation, or to what was occurring without. My eyes were upon her face, endeavoring to read the real truth, and I knew nothing of the two men at the edge of the orchard. Like a shot out of the night broke in a voice:
"Billie, who is that you have with you?"
I saw her reel against the side of the window, every trace of color deserting her face, her eyes staring down into the darkness. She gasped for breath, yet answered, before a thought flashed through my brain:
"Only a friend, papa. Did you suppose I would consent to remain alone long?"
"Le Gaire said he just left you."
She leaned out over the rail, half concealing me from view.
"Oh, that must have been fifteen minutes ago," and she laughed. "It is never safe to leave me as long as that. You know that, papa, and now I warn Captain Le Gaire."
The older man echoed her laugh, striking his companion lightly on the shoulder.
"I fear the little witch is right, Gerald," he said pleasantly. "Come, we'll go in, and uncover the whole conspiracy."
Their backs were toward us, and she straightened up, grasping me by the hand. She was shaking from head to foot, even her voice trembled.
"You must not be found here, and we have but a moment. Drop to the ground as soon as they turn the corner. Don't hesitate; don't compromise me."
"But what will you tell them?"
"Oh, I do not know--anything that comes into my head. Don't mind me, I'll take care of myself."
"But you will not; that is the whole trouble--if I go now I lose you forever. Billie, let me stay!"
She broke from me, stepping back into the room, yet there was a look in her eyes which made me desperate. She did not love Le Gaire, she despised him. I was certain of that, and more than half convinced her heart was already mine. Should I run from the fight like a coward, sneak away in the night, leaving her to be sacrificed? The very thought sickened me. Better to meet the issue squarely--and I believed I knew how it could be done. I grasped the curtain, drew it down twice in signal, and stepped into the room.
"I am going to take command here now, Billie," I said with new sternness. "All you need to do is obey orders."