My Lady of the South Part 2

CHAPTER XIX

A REBEL STILL

THE girl's eyes looked almost black over the shining barrel, her lips compressed and resolute. I could see the uplifted hammer, the finger upon the trigger, and realized that the mountain spirit, now thoroughly aroused, made her truly dangerous. And she had determined upon her course.

"Don't move, either of you, except to my orders," her voice sounding hard and metallic, as we stared at her in our first surprise. "O'Brien, reach back and open that door at your left; no, don't move your body; you can reach it with your hand."

He did so, his motion that of an automaton, his eyes fastened on the black muzzle of the gun. Dazed, stupefied, angry as I was, I could not deny the admiration I felt for her cool action. The polished barrel of the carbine never trembled, the watchful eyes never left us, the girl face was white but determined.

"Now move backward into that room, both of you. Lieutenant King, if you drop your hand to your belt I shall have to fire."

I did not believe she would; I could not think it in her nature to do so; besides, the alarm of the discharge would defeat her plans. Yet I durst not risk the experiment; ​durst not venture a movement which would tempt her to carry out her threat.

"Miss Denslow," I protested helplessly, "I have tried to serve you, have trusted you—is this the act of a friend?"

"No," she answered sharply, "this is war. There is nothing between us—nothing which can change my purpose. As God is my witness, if you do not go, I fire."

It was useless to argue, dangerous to delay. The desperation of the girl was evident enough, and, in her present mood, she would probably hesitate at nothing. Step by step we drew back across the threshold, the black muzzle following us steadily, the girl's eye sighting along the barrel, her every nerve apparently strained to the utmost, yet steady with resolve. An instant we remained thus, neither O'Brien nor I daring to change our posture, then, holding the deadly gun still posed, she swung shut the door with her foot, and the lock clicked, leaving us in total darkness.

"The infernal little divil!" he burst forth, finding his tongue in a sudden rush of passion. "The purring cat! Damn me, but I'd loike to git me hands on her for a minute."

"You might as well stop that, O'Brien," I interrupted sternly. "The girl did nothing but her duty. We were fools to give her the chance, and I especially, for I tested her mettle before. The thing for us now is to find some way out, before Donald leads the way in and takes our men in the rear. Feel around, and find out what this room is like."

​Even in the darkness the nature of the apartment was easily discoverable by sense of touch. It was small, apparently the sleeping-quarters of some servant, containing a cot bed, a small table, with only a pincushion on it, a washstand, and two ordinary chairs. From feeling I judged the carpet on the floor to be a rag one, while a heavy curtain, drawn down, concealed the single window. The walls were solid and unbroken, two pictures and a small mirror being their only ornaments. The door was immovable, and of hardwood, against which a knife blade made little impression. As I investigated these details, groping about in the darkness, my mind was busy analyzing the situation. For the third time since entering this house I found myself a prisoner, twice through the wit and nerve of this woman. And she, unknowing it, was my wife. Could there be a stranger position possible; would fiction ever dare to invent so odd, so seemingly impossible a situation? I could scarcely believe it myself, yet might not divorce my mind from her, every nerve a-tingle with the memory of how attractive she appeared even as she stood there holding us helpless under her aim. What a magnificent creature she was, womanly even in that moment of trial, devoted, loyal, ready to sacrifice herself for her cause! Here was surely a heart to love and trust. I made no attempt to deceive myself. Except for those legal bonds, by which we were fraudulently bound together, I was nothing to her—not even a friend. She had been kind, it was true, and had expressed her confidence in me, but her heart had been given elsewhere. For the sake of her lover, as well as ​her cause, she was willing to sacrifice me, if necessary. This knowledge brought me to myself with a shock. I might love her, as I already confessed I did, yet so hopeless a love should not be permitted to interfere between me and my present duty to imperilled comrades. I could not spare her any more than she had spared me. This was war, not love, and she had chosen the course for herself. I would drive from me all thought except the duty to my flag. I would forget everything but that I was a soldier.

I held aside the heavy curtain, and endeavored to peer forth through the glass. 1 could see nothing but a thin waving of branches, and an occasional spark of flame to the left as if our assailants were still firing at the front of the house, to distract attention no doubt from their more important operations at the rear. After some fumbling I discovered the lock of the window, and succeeded in silently raising the sash, so as to lean through the opening with head and shoulders. Yet the reward was scarcely worth the effort; the darkness was intense, and the silence profound. The ground must have been at least thirty feet below, and a great tree stood in front, shadowing everything, its spreading branches obscuring the view. O'Brien thrust his head out beside mine, peering about as with the eyes of a cat.

"It is black as the bottomless pit to me," I whispered; "can you see anything?"

He took his time answering, staring out through the blackness, with one hand shading his eyes.

"There's a grape arbor, or something loike that, ​sthraight ahead, sor," he said at last slowly, "an' maybe there's plenty of Rebs holdin' in it; but there's no signs of thim from here. They're keepin' up some shootin' out in front, an' I thought quite a squad just wint across that open space yonder toward the nigger cabins. They was all bunched together, but there was some movement there to the roight."

"If there were any guards in the grape arbor they would have heard us lift the window," I returned decisively, "and taken a shot this way. Draw in your head until I see if it is possible to reach the roof from here."

"Why not thry a dhrop to the ground, sor?"

"Because after we got there we would be no better off. Those fellows are preparing to come up through that back passage, and our work is to head them off. Help me to lower this upper sash."

I climbed up, pushing my body out as far as possible, while O'Brien steadied me by grasping my feet. My hands groped about for the edge of the roof, and my fingers found firm hold upon the lead gutter. My recollection of the roof was that it had a rather sharp pitch, sufficiently so to make scaling it, even if I could draw my body up, an impossibility. But this gutter was built in solid, and would safely sustain my weight. I swung out, testing it cautiously, expecting every instant to be fired at from below. Nothing happened, however, and I determined to risk the venture.

"Let loose of my feet, O'Brien; I am going to try for the next room."

He was too surprised for protest, but released bis grip, ​and I swung free, dangling from the gutter. I heard him clamber up on the sill, and saw his head poked out through the opening.

"Stay where you are," I ordered softly, "and if I make it I'll let you cut through the door. Be careful; some fellow may take a shot this way."

It was not a particularly difficult enterprise; a bit of a strain on the arms and fingers, of course, yet, under ordinary conditions, I would have thought little of the danger. My principal worry was that of discovery from below. The distance did not exceed ten feet, and I moved along hand over hand, noiselessly, the supporting gutter not yielding in the slightest to my weight, and my mind becoming more confident as I advanced. I could see little, but my dangling feet told me when I hung opposite the first window. Here a serious difficulty presented itself—the window was closed, probably locked. Yet I had anticipated this, reasoning that the clasp would be the same as that of the room in which we had been imprisoned, a half-circle catch between the two sashes. To reach it with my foot I would have to break a pane of glass, and it must be the right pane. I felt for it carefully, becoming more and more keenly aware of the strain on arms and fingers, located the proper spot, and sent my shoe crashing through the glass. A musket boomed from the black shadow of the grape arbor, the leaden messenger chugging into the wood just above my head: two carbines barked from a window of the lower floor, their flame showing like a red gash in the night. I stuck my leg through the shattered pane, felt the clasp with my ​shoe, and pressed it back. An instant later, with foot and hand, I had forced down the sash, and swung my body in through the opening. It was a ticklish job to let go my grip on the gutter, but my left hand found purchase on the frame of the window, and I squirmed in, inch by inch, expecting every instant a second shot from the fellow in the arbor. As 1 finally dropped to the floor his musket exploded, the bullet singing through the open window, burying itself in the ceiling, and showering me with plaster. The sharp responsive crack of carbines proved the troopers below alert, while a yell of surprise and pain made me hopeful that one of their shots had reached the mark.

The noise of crashing glass, and my fall to the floor, would hardly alarm the girl, even if she remained on guard in the hall, as there had been so much of similar disturbance during the past half-hour. If the door of this room was unlocked, and I could surprise her, the rest would be easily accomplished. I crossed the room softly, tried the knob, which instantly yielded, and, opening the door a scant inch, peered anxiously forth. Looking first toward the fireplace I saw nothing, and it was a moment or two before I perceived her, sitting on a low stool, the cocked carbine across her knees, at the head of the stairs. Instantly I comprehended her purpose. Confident that O'Brien and I were securely caged, and that Donald would lead his men into the house by way of the secret passage, she was waiting to defend the stairs, to prevent any search of the second story. Her back was toward me, and to creep upon her across that soft carpet would not be a ​difficult venture; yet, for the moment I hesitated, dreading the necessity, and feeling the love for her well up into my heart.

She was sufficiently in earnest, no doubt; indeed the intenseness of her attitude, the grip of her fingers on the weapon, her very posture, exhibited determination. And yet the woman in her was equally apparent; the quick trembling of her shoulders, the occasional uplifting of one hand as if she swept aside gathering tears. I could perceive one white cheek, and the fluffy brown of her hair, although the light was so dim that she seemed little more than shadow. In that moment of indecision I would have given the world to go to her, to clasp her in my arms, and stand beside her through right or wrong. War, duty, difference of political opinion, appearing nothing beside the appeal of that pathetic figure guarding the stairs. And yet, if I knew her nature at all, she would despise me if I failed to do my best for the cause in which I was enlisted. Weakness, surrender, would never win her. Womanly though she was, she came of fighting blood, and the man she trusted would have to prove himself. She could respect and admire a worthy enemy, but she would despise a weakling, even if his lack of manhood came through love of her. Besides, she was doing this for Donald, and the mere remembrance stiffened me instantly. She would not find me as easy as she thought; they should never get together and laugh over my discomfiture, or make light of me as a soldier. She had said this was war, and I would bear my part in it.

The door opened noiselessly, and I crept out, my eyes ​never leaving her motionless figure. Apparently there was some movement down stairs, for she kept looking intently that way, utterly oblivious to any danger from behind. I was within a foot of her before some instinct told her of my presence. Even as she leaped to her feet, giving vent to a faint cry of startled fear, I had grasped the barrel of her gun, and held it safely.

"You said, Miss Denslow, this was war," I began sternly, "and now it is my turn. Give me the carbine." She released her grasp of it, her eyes on my face. They were not angry, but soft from unshed tears. Some way the expression in them took all the fight out of me.

"I—I am sorry," I stammered lamely, "that I must hold you prisoner, but you have proven too dangerous to be permitted to go free."

"How did you get here? Where did you come from?" she questioned, finding her voice.

"Oh, that was simple enough. I came out through the window of one room, and in through the window of another. Some of your friends shot at me, but their marksmanship was poor. You must have a pretty low opinion of Yankees to suppose one would lie idle under lock and key."

She sank back upon the chair, her face buried in her hands. A wave of pity swept over me.

"Don't be angry," I urged, thinking only of her. "I could do no less."

"I am not angry at you," and she looked up at me, the tears now plainly visible, "I respect you more because you have not yielded. But—but I have failed—failed ​utterly. I am angry with myself, humiliated, miserable."

"Yes, I can understand that. I felt much the same when the lock clicked behind me. But all this is the fortune of war, and it may be your turn to rejoice in another hour." There was a noise behind, and I wheeled about quickly, throwing up the carbine. O’Brien stood in the open doorway through which I had come, staring at us.

"I got toired waitin', sor," he said, grinning, "so I thried me luck at the gutter route."

"Very good," I returned, driven by his presence to action. "And now, Miss Denslow, I shall be compelled to lock you up for a while."

She rose to her feet, no longer looking at me.

"Where?"

"The room you were in when I first came upstairs."

She followed me, without word of protest, her head bent forward. I held open the door, glancing within to see the nature of the apartment. Then her eyes uplifted and met mine, and I raised my cap

"Believe me, I regret this."

"There is no necessity for apology. You merely do your duty," she returned quietly, "I am a Rebel still."

I closed and locked the door.

 CHAPTER XX

WE FIND THE PASSAGE

IMOVED back down the hall, retaining within my hands the carbine wrenched from her grasp. It was not easy to lock her in as a prisoner, to treat her as a dangerous enemy, and yet there was no other way. From all appearances the cavalrymen below were fully capable of defending the house from any open attack; while, judging from all I could see and hear, the besieging party did not greatly outnumber our own, although their numbers were increasing, as Colonel Donald's irregulars gathered in about us like hawks to their prey. But the real danger existed in a secret attack from the rear, and I alone suspected this possibility. Our safety lay in discovery of the hidden entrance and our preparation to defend it. More than this, the grim secret of the murder appeared to centre there also. I could not divorce from my thought the conviction that along that passage would be found evidence that I was innocent of the crimes of the past night. And Jean Denslow had attempted to prevent investigation, not from any desire to injure me, but to help Donald, and to aid the Confederacy. There was nothing for it but to treat her as an enemy, unpleasant though I found the task.

What surprised me was the slowness with which those ​without availed themselves of this advantageous point of attack. Both their officers knew the secret way leading into the house; and, while Dunn's caution, or cowardice, whichever it was, might restrain him from so bold an effort, yet Donald must have long since reached their lines, and action was the dominating trait of his character. What could they be waiting for—the arrival of more men, or the coming of daylight when they could observe better the nature of their work? Both, perhaps. O'Brien had reported a grouping of men toward the rear of the building. No doubt they were being advanced into the passageway, but might be held there until daybreak before pressing the assault home. This would give them ample time to gather in their scattered bands, enabling them to advance on the house from both front and rear in sufficient force to make victory assured. It was their supreme confidence in the final result which kept them idle, firing merely enough to let us know they remained watchful, and using the cloak of darkness as cover to their movements. Our only hope lay in discovery of their means of entrance; this once found and securely guarded, we could surprise them in turn, and defend our position indefinitely. So assured was I as to this, that my entire thought focussed upon the one point, the immediate importance of uncovering this hidden way eclipsing even the memory of the girl I had just left a prisoner in the room behind. The fireplace was where all my suspicions centred, and I turned toward it, grasping the Irish lad by the sleeve of his jacket, and facing him in the same direction.

​"What is it, sor?" he asked, surprised and staring.

Before I could answer, the huge, overhanging mantel seemed slowly, silently to swing outward as if hung on a central pivot. We both saw it plainly enough, although, for the moment, we were motionless from surprise, O'Brien leaning forward, I with hand still grasping his arm as in a vise. There was the yawning of a narrow black hole, the rays of light barely revealing, as if it were a shadow, a white haggard face, the unmistakable features of a woman. Her eyes, blazing oddly, seemed to glare into ours, like those of a wild animal. Then it was all over, the mantel had swung back into position, and we beheld nothing but the solid wall. It was a weird, uncanny thing, the memory of it like a delirium of fever. O'Brien gripped the rail of the baluster, his face fairly gray from terror.

"By God! did you see that, sor?" he choked out, his voice barely audible.

"Yes," nervously wetting my own lips, yet convinced this was no supernatural visitor. "It was a woman's face."

"You mane it was rale—rale, wid flesh an' blood behoind it?"

"Sure, O'Brien," and I shook him fiercely. "As real as you or I. Brace up, man! It is not ghosts we're fighting, awful as the face looked. It was a woman, looking out at us through some opening in that fireplace."

His clutching fingers relaxed, and he straightened up, still staring, as if only half convinced.

"God grant you're right, sor," he muttered solemnly, ​"but niver did I see such a face before on a human. Sure, it's no woman I iver want to know."

"And it's one I should like to be better acquainted with. At least the sight has established one fact—the fireplace there is the entrance to the secret passage. Here, take the carbine, and stand by while I try to discover how it works."

He advanced with me reluctantly enough, although the familiar touch of the weapon gave him a measure of confidence. Yet he stopped, as if rooted to the spot, ten feet away, and, I doubted not, would have run at the slightest alarm. I had not as yet attained full control over my own nerves, the recollection of that ghastly face haunting me strangely; yet I compelled myself to advance, convinced the vision had been no illusion, but an earthly reality to be met with boldness. Here was the spot I sought, here the revealment of the mystery, here the point of attack. Whatever of horror might lie hidden in the blackness beyond that fireplace, it must be explored and uncovered. With every nerve tingling I bent to the task, cursing the cowardice which made my hands tremble. my blood like ice. Apparently the entire lower half of the mantel had revolved as if on a central pivot, and I felt carefully for the slightest crevice indicating the place of separation. To sight and touch there was none; not even after I had called O'Brien to bring the lamp, and we had together gone over the entire surface inch by inch. Nowhere was there an opening sufficient even for the insertion of a knife blade; apparently the mantel was as solid and immovable as the closely fitted stones of ​the chimney. I stepped back, staring in bewilderment, begining to doubt the evidence of my own sight. O'Brien still held the lamp in unsteady hands, the flame full on his face, and flickering along the wall in grotesque shadows.

"I tould ye, sor," he burst out wildly, "that was no human. 'T was the Divil's own face that I saw, an' niver a doubt of it. Saint Mary! but it manes the death of the wan or the both of us."

I set my teeth grimly, his fear the very cordial I needed, my anger yielding me new resolve. There was no superstition in my blood, and I realized I faced nothing but human inventiveness and human malice. There was certainly a way leading into that chimney, and I intended to find it, even though I tore the thing apart stone by stone. Not alone our defence of the house was involved in this search, but the solution of the crimes of which I stood accused gave me fresh incentive. That awful face, woman's though it was, was demoniacal enough to cause me to connect it instantly with these deeds of blood feud. Whatever the cause or purpose; whatever of hellish suffering lay behind, that dreadful apparition pictured the very spirit of murder—murder in the dark.

"Perhaps it does, my lad," I answered, my hand on his shoulder, "but when that death comes it will find us plucking the heart out of this mystery. Now come to your senses and listen to me. Two murders have been committed in this house within the last forty-eight hours, and whoever committed them has left no trace. There is a secret passageway leading in here with an opening ​on this floor. We have got to find it for two reasons—to keep the Rebs out, and to solve the mystery of these murders. You and I both saw that mantel move until it revealed an opening. It was done by human hands, and the face which glared out at us was a human face. It was devilish enough, I admit. but with flesh and blood behind it. Now shake yourself together and stand by, for I am going to find a way in, and you are going along with me."

He did not appear a very promising subject, and I half expected to see him break for the stairs. Under other circumstances I would have laughed at the expression of his face, but then I was not myself wholly free from the spell of those eyes which had glared forth at us from the wall, and I could appreciate the lad's honest terror. Action alone would supply the remedy, and I must drive him to it remorselessly, commanding and domineering. until his natural courage responded.

"Come on, lad," I insisted. "Place the lamp on the chair, so you can keep the gun in your hands while I feel over every inch of this contrivance. There is a spring-lock here somewhere."

There was no doubt he would keep a thorough watch, his eyes roving backward to the dark end of the hall, the rays of light revealing each nook and corner of the mysterious fireplace. I heard him cock the carbine, the sharp click plainly audible in the silence. and was pleased to note the thin line of his compressed lips.

"Av yer sure it was human, sor." he said, wiping the perspiration from his forehead with one hand, "then ​I'm damned av I'm afraid of it, at all, at all. But niver did I see sich a face before."

"They were insane eyes, that was all, O'Brien. At first I almost thought as you did, but now my senses have come back, and I am for probing this thing to the bottom. Now stand ready."

I went over the entire surface with my fingers, pressing against every protuberance which might conceal the spring controlling the mechanism. The mantel fitted back into the chimney so perfectly I found no spot where even the thin blade of my knife could find entrance; the stones were solidly mortared, and the iron fire-screen was bolted down securely in place. A brass rail extended out a foot or so, and ran across the front, and two iron andirons were let in through a slight cutting of the screen. I moved one of these, finding it loose, and then placed my hand upon the other, simply because I knew not what else to do. To my surprise it was immovable, seemingly as solid as the stones beneath. I endeavored to pull it forth but without result.

"Here 's a queer thing, O'Brien," I exclaimed, "That other andiron is loose but this one is fastened solidly."

He leaned over, and stared at it, his gun ready under one arm.

"Thry pullin' up on it, sor," he suggested. "Maybe it's just caught on something."

I got up from my knees, and bent down, both hands gripping the iron. As I straightened my arms, without the slightest resistance, or noise, the bar uplifted a bare inch, and then caught again with a dull metallic click. ​There was a low whir as of some hidden machinery, and I stepped instantly back, gripping the revolver at my belt uncertain for the instant whether my pull had operated the strange contrivance, or whether some happening was responsible. Slowly, utterly silent but for that soft whining, the mantel swung as on a central pivot, half-way round, and then stopped with a click, leaving before us a black opening, large enough to admit easily the passage of a man's body, and about four feet high I seemed to see this, and O'Brien's face at the same instant. The latter was absolutely gray, and his limbs shook under him. What power held him from flight or kept him from discharging his gun into the orifice, I could not determine, yet his very terror gave me relief.

"Unncock your carbine," I ordered. "There is nothing there to shoot at. See," and I caught up the lamp and held it where the light streamed through the opening. He obeyed mechanically, as he would in battle, but still shrinking back, the muzzle of his weapon pointing into the depths of the hole. I stepped in front of him, advancing the lamp, so as to yield me a clearer view. It was simply the interior of a huge chimney, built of stones, carefully mortared, and so clean as to be proof positive no smoke had ever passed that way. The opening downward was square, three feet across I judged, but, as I held the lamp lower, the passage appeared to widen out considerably below the floor level, and I caught glimpse of a ladder, with wide steps, tilted to such an angle as to make climbing scarcely more difficult than would a pair of stairs. In a niche of the wall, on a wooden shelf, was ​a lantern, and a metallic box of matches. I handed O'Brien the lamp, bidding him place it on the chair, and then, carefully avoiding all contact with the andiron which apparently operated the machine, stepped inside the opening, upon the narrow stone rim encircling the shaft. My extended hand touched the roof, seemingly proving that the form of a chimney above was a mere sham, intended to bear out the deception of the fireplace; yet several iron bars, conveniently located for steps, were bolted to the side wall, making me suspicious that the space above might be utilized m a small room. I shook the lantern, found it half filled with oil, and applied a match to the wick. The yellow flame gave a good view of the narrow quarters, but, although I held it above my head, scanning the closely matched boards of the ceiling, I could discover no signs of a trap door. There was sufficient dust collected on the iron bars to convince me no one had lately climbed them, and I determined to explore below.

"You see what this is, O'Brien, a secret passage," I said, glancing back at him. "That is human enough; the Devil don't need such things to help him get about. Whomsoever we saw peering out of here came up these steps, and, whether it was woman or man, we can travel the same route. I'm going down, and I want you to follow me, but don't touch that andiron as you come in."

He moved briskly enough, evidently convinced at last that merely flesh and blood fronted us, and ashamed of his first terror. His was naturally the reckless courage ​of a boy. and his cheeks flushed with excitement. his eyes peering into the black hole.

"'T is an aisy place to shoot from, sor." he volunteered. "av any wan was hidin' down below."

"You are right about that: give me the sling-strap from your carbine."

Unbuckled, it was long enough to extend half the length of the ladder, and I dangled the lantern down the well, leaning forward and peering anxiously at what the yellow glare revealed. I could see to the bottom, but the shadows there might have concealed a dozen men. Evidently the shaft did not go to the basement, and there was a black opening at the ladder's foot, which would likely prove the entrance to a tunnel. Any further delay was useless, and I drew up the lantern. handed the sling-strap back to the lad, and tested the ladder rungs with my weight. They were sufficiently solid, and I went down swiftly. half anticipating a shot from out the darkness beneath. dangling the lantern, the yellow flicker of flame merely accentuating the deep shadows.

CHAPTER XXI

WE FIND COLONEL DONALD

IWAS at the bottom, finding myself in a small, rock-walled room some six feet square, a tunnel leading off from it of barely sufficient height to permit me to enter its mouth without stooping, before O'Brien ventured upon the ladder. Feeling to the full the weird grimness of the place, my mind yet haunted by the memory of that ghastly face, I waited until he joined me, holding up the lantern so he might easily see the steps of the ladder, yet never once removing my eyes from the impenetrable darkness ahead. I hardly knew what to expect, what danger to guard against. I not only felt a strange horror at suddenly confronting that mysterious woman, but I expected every Instant to hear the noise of advancing men. We could make a fair defence in that narrow space, it was true, yet even here, and amid darkness, numbers would possess an advantage, while any attempt at retreat up that ladder would mean almost certain death. Seemingly boldness was the only alternative. There might be some way of blocking this passage, and thus protecting our rear. By the time O'Brien reached me I had determined on exploring the tunnel to its end.

"How are you, lad?" I questioned, endeavoring to put ​courage in my voice. "Have you got your nerve back, so as to go with me into that hole?"

He fumbled the lock of his gun, gazing doubtfully about, and down the tunnel where the rays of light penetrated a dozen feet; his teeth were set, his square jaw advanced.

"I'll go where ye ordher me, sor, but I niver hed a damneder job since I first wint sojerin'."

"All right, then: there's room for the two of us shoulder to shoulder. No matter what happens, don't fire until I give the word, and don't let shadows frighten you."

I held the lantern in my left hand, throwing the rays of light as far in advance as possible. With the other I drew a revolver from my belt, holding it cocked and ready. It was a perfectly straight passage, walls and roof of stone, smoothly matched. evidently thus arranged so any one could pass that way in the dark with no danger or injury. The floor was earth, but levelled as if by a transit, sufficiently hard to leave no impression of feet passing over it. It seemed to me the tunnel must run directly beneath the ell kitchen, and I doubted if the roof was two feet below the surface of the ground. This directness gave us confidence, as it permitted the rays of the lantern to penetrate a considerable distance, and, although alert and watchful, my thought drifted to the girl I had left locked in the room above. I wondered if it was possible for her to escape, to sound an alarm without, or even to close the opening fireplace, and thus securely trap us in this black hole underground. I felt ​no doubt as to her doing so if opportunity came, and she was not one to yield weakly and make no effort. I began questioning my judgment in not leaving O'Brien on guard in the hall, or, at least ordering one of the troopers below to the second floor during our exploration. I came to a halt, this new conception of danger in full possession of my mind, purposing to despatch him back, and go on alone, when the fellow suddenly gripped my arm, advancing the black barrel of his carbine until it pointed straight down the tunnel.

"Be all the saints, sor," he whispered hoarsely, "ain't that the body of a man?"

It assuredly was, or else my eyes deceived me. It was lying head toward us against the side wall, with limbs extended half across the passage. The face was turned away, a wide-brimmed soft hat, still on the head, helping to render the entire shadow shapeless. The light barely revealed the outlines, yet, as I held the lantern higher, there could be no doubt as to its being the figure of a human being. Neither of us spoke, but I could feel the grip of the boy's fingers, and hear his quick breathing. It was an uncanny thing to meet with in that place, and my own heart throbbed, every thought of the possible peril above banished as I fronted this new discovery. Who could it be? How came the body there? Two hours before, Donald had passed through this tunnel on his way into the house, and had found the path unobstructed. An hour later he had gone out again. The first trip had been made without a light, and yet he never could have passed that body without touching it. Could ​it be the wearer of that awful face? I was convinced the latter was a woman, while the body yonder was unquestionably that of a man. Yet the impression of that countenance haunted me, seemed forever associated with the horror of this hole in which we skulked, and I dragged O'Brien forward, dreading lest I had to gaze upon it again. She might have been attired in men's clothes; and it seemed to me then, I would rather look on any other human countenance, death-stamped, than on her wildly distorted visage. I cannot convey in words the intense horror with which I recalled the ghastly outline of that face; the very recurring memory left me nerveless, and I comprehended why the lad held back, half struggling to break away.

Yet I dragged him forward with me, until the light fell full upon the huddled-up bunch of humanity, until I thrust the lantern down close against the wall, and got a glimpse beneath the hat brim. Already from the massive figure I suspected the truth; now my eyes confirmed it—the man lying there was Colonel Donald. I saw the wound in his throat, the blood-stains on the stones. He had been murdered, stricken exactly as those others, pounced upon in the dark without the slightest warning, the deadly knife driven home by a cunning hand. It seemed to me I would choke from the very horror of it; my hand tore open the collar of my shirt; my eyes stared down at his white face, and then nervously about into the black shadows.

O'Brien was the first to recover himself, for he had experienced less of the night's mystery, and the inert body ​lying before us was to him merely that of a strange man. He dropped upon his knees, turned the ghastly face up to the light, and pressed his ear against the gray jacket.

"He's not clane dead, yit, sor," he declared, "there's a bate to his heart."

The unexpected words brought me instantly to myself, and I caught up the limp hand, feeling eagerly for the pulse. It was throbbing weakly, and the very touch of it afforded me hope. I liked this Donald; whatever he might be to Jean Denslow he had won my respect, and I would save his life if possible—save it even though he stood between me and the one woman. I tore the neckerchief from about my throat.

"Have you water in your canteen, O'Brien? Here, hand it over."

I bathed the white face in it, washing away the blood upon his throat, thus disclosing the nature of the wound. It was not deep, not even dangerous; evidently the knife had slipped, inflicting a jagged scratch, yet missing the vital point aimed at. O'Brien lifted the head on his arm, his hand pressing back the thick hair, streaked with gray.

"He's got a humpin' crack here, sor," he said, "an' it's bled a lot. That's loikely what laid him out rather then the pin-prick ye're clanin'."

I took a glance at it, touching the congealed blood and matted hair with my fingers.

"Yes," I decided, "he was struck in the dark suddenly, and the force of the blow, or else the impact of some body, knocked him backward. His head hit the stone, rendering him unconscious, and the party attacking, ​supposing his knife thrust had reached a vital part, believed the man had fallen dead, as he probably never moved. That water is reviving him."

I had a small flask of brandy in the pocket of my jacket, a swallow or two remaining. This I succeeded in forcing between Donald's teeth, and he gulped it down unconsciously, O'Brien bracing his head up with supporting shoulder. The fiery stuff had immediate effect; the man's eyes opened, his great chest heaved in an effort to breathe. He stared into our faces apparently without comprehending; the blue uniforms alone riveting his attention.

"Yankees?" the single word came with a sob.

"Yes, Colonel Donald," I explained hastily, "but we are here to help you. You remember me, do you not—Lieutenant King?"

A moment he appeared to hesitate, as if the recollection were not entirely clear; then his expression became more natural, and he made a weak effort to smile.

"King? King? Oh, certainly, I remember now; your men came, and I—" He stopped, evidently struggling to recall what had occurred to him after the arrival of the troopers. I thought perhaps a word of explanation might assist in clearing his brain.

"It was a troop of Federal cavalry despatched to my aid. Colonel Donald. I sent Miss Denslow up the stairs, intending you should thus have an opportunity for escape, and was still parleying with the fellows on the front porch, when a squad of concealed Confederates poured a volley into us. They hit a few, but the remainder made the ​house, and drove the others back when they attempted to rush us. We've been defending the house ever since, and I made a search for this secret passage. I found my way into it at last, and discovered you lying here apparently dead, with a wound in your throat just as those others had."

He put his hand up to the gash, as if just made aware of its existence.

"I am afraid I cannot help you very much, Lieutenant," he said slowly, evidently striving to remember. "I left you with Jean, intending to search this tunnel. I had opened the fireplace, and was lighting the lantern when your men came, and I stole back as far as the head of the stairs to learn what was happening. Then Jean came up with your message, and I decided to escape to my own men as quickly as possible. Having no longer any thought of search, and knowing the way perfectly, I blew out the lantern, and came down the ladder in the dark. I have made the trip in that manner a dozen times, and felt no fear. I must have advanced through the tunnel for a hundred feet or more, one hand touching the wall to keep the direction, when something struck me so unexpectedly, that I reeled backward and fell. I have no recollection of seeing anything; only of feeling the blow, and realizing I was falling. The next I remember is looking up into your faces, wondering where I was."

The man was far too weak and dazed to be questioned at any length; in his present state it would be useless to describe the woman's face we had seen, or Miss Jean's effort to hold us prisoners. The discovery of him lying ​there unconscious had, at least, served to clarify the situation somewhat. Here was an explanation of why no attack had thus far been made upon us from the rear: either no one outside knew of this passage, or else Dunn, if he was present and in command, lacked the nerve necessary for directing such an assaulting party. Whichever was the cause, I desired to satisfy myself—I must seal the tunnel, or else (the idea coming to me as an inspiration) lead a sortie through it, and thus take the unconscious besiegers in the rear. But what about Donald? We could not leave him here, nor could we hope to drag him back up that long ladder into the house, for the man had lost much blood, and appeared weak as a babe. Besides, if I would plan intelligently, I needed to learn something definite regarding the terminus of this tunnel, as well as of the force of Confederates surrounding the house.

"How far are we from the entrance?" I questioned, picking up the lantern.

"Not over fifty feet, I should say. You pass out through a trap door into a log storehouse."

"Could you manage to walk that far?"

He held on to O'Brien and the wall, thus succeeding in lifting himself until he stood erect, but his movements were so weak and uncertain that I grasped him also. In this manner, moving with great care, we advanced slowly along the passage. Donald uttered no sound, but his clenched teeth, and the beads of perspiration on his forehead, told of pain almost insupportable. Twice we permitted him to lie back on the packed earth ​floor to rest, but I durst not waste much time in this way, and felt obliged to force him again to his feet. He was swaying dizzily when we finally attained the foot of a short ladder leading upward. The trap was closed, yet as I held the lantern higher I could perceive the outlines of the door. Donald sank to the floor, the weight of his body bearing the boy with him, and lay there with eyes closed, and hand pressed against his head. He was evidently suffering greatly, but in the stress of the moment I could scarcely afford him much consideration.

"Is the trap locked?"

His eyes opened slightly, staring deeply at the lantern flame.

"No; all you need do is push against it."

I climbed the few steps of the ladder, leaving the light below, and, without great effort, lifted the door, turning it silently back until it rested securely against some obstacle. I could perceive little outside the narrow zone of light radiating from below, yet the small room into which my head projected appeared unoccupied, no movement or sound attracting attention. Satisfied as to this, I returned below, considerably puzzled as to how Donald was to be got up the ladder. Water from the canteen applied externally, with the last dregs of the brandy flask as inward stimulant, brought the injured man once again to his feet. I buckled the sling-strap of the carbine beneath his arms, and led the way, O'Brien boosting sturdily from below, and thus, aided a little by his own efforts, we succeeded in dragging his almost inert body up the short reach of ladder, and out upon the floor above. His ​dead weight taxed our strength to the utmost, and the man fainted as his head fell back upon the planks, and he lay limp and scarcely breathing. For the moment O'Brien and I were in but slightly better condition, our muscles aching, our breath like sobs.

CHAPTER XXII

A RECONNAISSANCE

MY own exhaustion, complete as it was temporarily, was not lasting. I held the lantern before Donald's face, bending down to make certain he still breathed, and then began searching for the door of the cabin. There was a variety of articles piled within, but a comparatively clear lane had been left between them leading to the single entrance, which was secured by a simple latch. The night remained exceedingly dark without, but I hid the lantern within a box, and endeavored to make something of the immediate surroundings. We were directly to the rear of the house, another small cabin standing between us and the kitchen ell. Some ten or fifteen feet away I made out the black outlines of a well-curb, with a sweep above it, and beyond that rose the trunk of a large tree. This comprised about all I could distinguish with any certainty, while the intense quietness of the night seemed more like a dream than a reality. Could it be possible those silent shadows hid fighting men within their sombre depths, men with guns in their hands, and the desire to kill in their hearts? I called to O'Brien in a whisper, and the lad came to me instantly.

"See if you can fill your canteen there at the well ​without making a noise," and I pointed toward the vague outline. "You had better creep, and keep your eyes wide open."

He was not absent more than five minutes, clinging close to the darker shadows in his passage, moving more like a snake than a man. Donald stirred and groaned, but I clung watchfully to the doorway until the boy came safe back.

"There was wather in the pail, sor." he explained, letting me feel the wet canteen, "an' there's two or three fellows sittin' there on the back porch."

"Were those all you saw? "

"I heard a noise by the head of the arbor, but it was too black in there to see anything."

"Well, you go inside and remain with Colonel Donald. Don't permit him any opportunity to get away or sound an alarm. Keep fresh water on his wound, but don't venture to leave him a minute. I am going to take a look around, but will not be gone more than twenty minutes. You understand?"

"I do, sor."

I waited in the doorway until he had vanished, and then crept cautiously forth, moving slowly backward down the short line of negro cabins, until I attained the edge of a small grove. Under this concealment I circled to the right, purposing to advance through the weeds along the east of the grape arbor. I remembered the lay of the land in this direction fairly well, and felt convinced the force of attacking Confederates would be drawn as close in to the house as the shelter would permit. I had no ​reason to suppose the number of men opposing us was very considerable; their apparent unwillingness in assault—for they must have known we were a small party—bespoke weakness, and the probable waiting tor reinforcements. Every rifle under such circumstances would be on the firing line, and they would anticipate no approach from the rear. Confident in this respect I crept well around, and then began worming my way in toward the grape arbor, discovering nothing to obstruct progress. The thickness of the vines finally prevented further advance in this direction, and I consequently turned more toward the front of the house, heading directly toward a great tree, at the north end of the arbor. The spreading branches cast so black a shadow that I was almost within arm's length of the trunk before becoming aware that two men were standing there together, their backs toward me. It was the sound of a voice which first awaken me to the peril of the position in which I had unwittingly placed myself.

"Theilen will certainly be here by daylight, and then we shall have enough men to turn the trick. That was his messenger who just left."

"How much of a force will he bring?" It was Calvert Dunn who asked the question.

"He should have a hundred men, with my fellows picked up on the way. He was sent over to Bitter Creek to waylay a Yankee foraging party."

There was a pause; Dunn kicked restlessly at the root of the tree.

"Well, it can't be more than an hour now until ​daylight," he said, at last, "and altogether that will give us about one hundred and sixty-five, won't it?"

"That or more; my fellows have been dropping in here all night, and you brought five with you."

"I did n't expect to fall into this sort of an affair," in a tone of evident disgust. "I merely came over to take back that Yankee prisoner to camp. Did you count the blue-bellies?"

"No; but there are about twenty of them, I reckon, and they must have bottled up the Colonel, or he'd have been out here with us before this. Those fellars can shoot, too, better'n any troopers I ever come up against before." He paused, thinking. "Didn't you say a while ago. Lieutenant, that you knew a way leadin' into the house that would let us take 'em in the ra'ar?"

"Yes, I did, Dodd; but there's no use trying to turn that trick until we get more men. If Theilen reaches here by daylight we'll gobble up that whole Yankee outfit easy, but it's better to wait and make a clean job. As things are they can't possibly get away."

"Some of 'em will sure get hurt if they ever try it. Well, I'm goin' 'round the lines again, Lieutenant. Maybe you better wait here, where I can find you easy. Besides, this is about where Theilen will strike for when he comes. He'll follow that path up from the creek, most likely."

The guerilla sauntered off, gun across his shoulder, and I crouched low behind the grape arbor until he passed, his footsteps noiseless on the soft earth. Dunn remained quiet a moment, and then sauntered slowly round ​behind the tree trunk, and I heard him scratching a match. It blazed into a tiny flame, and he attempted to light a cigar, the slight glow illumining his face. A window of the house spit flame to the sharp crack of a carbine, the ball tearing along the bark of the tree. My rascals within were evidently awake, and the startled Lieutenant dropped the blazing match as though it had burnt his fingers. Another carbine spoke from a window further to the left, the missile whistling through the air between us. Then everything became silent and black again.

So Dunn intended to resort to the secret passage, as soon as he had gathered men enough to safely risk the attempt; and he was the only one in the party who was aware of its existence. Then my work was cut out for me—I must take care of Dunn. Yet how was this to be accomplished? I felt no personal fear of the fellow, merely of the alarm he might raise, thus cutting off my retreat, and overturning all my plans. Besides, there was brief time in which to arrange the play, with both daylight and Theilen already so close at hand. Theilen! Why, of course a report of his approach would throw Dunn off his guard, and I might inveigle the fellow far enough back from the lines to make an open attack possible. Here, at least, was the only course which seemed to promise success. I tore off my jacket, turning it inside out to hide the gleam of buttons; ripped off the insignia from the front of my slouch hat, and pulled the wide brim low over my eyes. There would be nothing natty about Theilen's irregulars, and the color of my clothes could not be ​easily guessed at in the gloom. All else was sheer luck and audacity. I was within five feet of the fellow before he even saw me, and the ludicrous manner in which he leaped backward, clawing for the revolver in his belt almost caused me to laugh outright. Yet, before he could draw the weapon, I asked hurriedly,

"Is this Captain Dodd?"

"N—no; I am an officer of Johnston's staff," peering forward in a vain endeavor to decipher my face. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"I have been sent forward by Captain Theilen. He wants to know where he is to bring his men."

The Lieutenant stiffened up, the slight faltering of his voice vanished in an effort at command.

"Oh, I see. Well, I am technically in command here, being of the regular service. Where is Theilen?"

"Back yonder on the creek; he's waitin' for orders, an' a guide."

"Well, hurry back and bring him up—you know the way, don't you?"

I stared off into the black night, as though it hid a thousand mysteries.

"Well, I don't exactly know," I confessed unwillingly. "I got here all right because the firing from the house sorter guided me; but them weeds is mighty confusin', an' I reckon it will take me a right smart while to find my way back again. You could n't go along, could you?"

There was nothing in the request to arouse suspicion, yet he hesitated, apparently at first inclined to refuse, perhaps considering such a service beneath his dignity.

​" Maybe if you got me as far as the head of that path I might make the rest all right," I suggested doubtfully. It was plain enough he would prefer remaining where he was, but anxiety to have these welcome reinforcements hurried forward caused him grudgingly to consent.

"How large a force have you?"

"A few over a hundred, I reckon."

"Well, come on; I'll show you to the path. You could follow that with your eyes blindfolded."

I had forgotten the way myself, or rather the night confused me as to the points of compass, yet as he started off to the right I followed, perfectly satisfied so long as every step took us farther away from the immediate vicinity of the house. We were not challenged, evidence enough that no guards had been stationed to prevent possible approach from this direction, and my guide pushed ahead rapidly, familiar with every inch of the route. We had traversed the orchard, and were upon the edge of the weed patch, when he came to a sharp halt.

"Here's where the path begins leading down to the creek. It's not very straight, but you can't lose it, for the growth is solid on both sides."

"It all looks the same to me," staring beyond him. "Where did you say the entrance was?"

"Right here in front," half angrily. "What is the matter with your eyes? I'll lead you into it, and then, perhaps, you can follow your nose."

He gripped my sleeve, forcing me forward. The next instant I had my leg twined about his, my hand on his throat, and he went to the ground as though felled by a ​blow, the breath squeezed out of him, too thoroughly astounded to struggle. I never had an easier job at taming a man, and before he got his scattered senses together I pressed a revolver barrel against his temple, threatening instant death if he so much as moved. Whatever other ambitions Lieutenant Calvert Dunn may have possessed, departure from life was surely not included, and I doubt If he winked an eyelash while I stripped him of weapons, and tightly buckled his waistbelt about his arms, binding them helplessly against the body.

"Sorry to be compelled to treat you in this manner," I remarked coolly, "but it seems to be your luck to get in my way constantly. Besides, I believe you advocated hanging me only a few hours ago."

He recognized me then, and the sudden gust of anger overcame his prudence, yielding him voice. He burst forth into a volley of oaths.

"Stop that!" the words like bullets, the grip of my hand shutting off his wind. "I hold your life in this one finger and you either obey me, or die. How many men are about this house?"

He squirmed under the pressure of the gun barrel, but comprehended the necessity for an immediate answer.

"About sixty."

"All Donald's guerillas?"

"Except the small squad I brought with me."

"How are they posted?"

"Thirty or so in front of the house; perhaps a dozen at the rear; the others scattered so as to watch the side windows."

​"No patrols thrown out to protect the rear?"

"Not so far as I know: there may be a picket on the main road. We had no reason to expect any Yanks from this direction."

There was no occasion to doubt the truth of his replies, and they coincided exactly with my own conception of the situation. These were irregulars, and not disciplined soldiers, trained merely as raiders, and naturally careless as to guard lines. Besides, they had every reason to suppose the small body of Federal cavalry opposing them were without supports, and securely bottled up within the house. All they had to do was to await reinforcements, and then force surrender. Any thought of a rear attack had not once occurred to them. The situation was certainly to my liking, but what could I do with Dunn? I possessed no efficient means of binding and gagging the fellow so as to leave him safely behind, and, if Theilen was really expected by daylight, every minute was of value, the smallness of my force making it necessary that I keep the enemy separated, fighting a detachment at a time. Delay meant daylight, and an enemy outnumbering us five to one. The only feasible method was to take the Lieutenant with me back to the hut, where O'Brien could stand guard over him; while I gathered together our men for a sortie. With this in view I gripped him by the collar, hauling him roughly to his feet.

"Now, Dunn, keep exactly one step ahead of me along the edge of these weeds until you reach the orchard. Yes, I know where we are going, and any effort to break ​away or any noise, will put you beyond rescue. Step out lively now, only be quiet about it."

I can sincerely say this for him, he was a good prisoner, although I heard him swearing fiercely under his breath, doubtless because of suspicions of me, expecting every moment to have his throat cut. Anyway, he pushed on exactly as I ordered, and, no one intercepting us, we reached the rear of the hut in good order. I could hear the voices of the guard conversing on the back porch of the house, but they caught no glimpse of our stealthy movements, and we slipped within the shelter of the cabin, where O'Brien promptly held us up with levelled carbine.

CHAPTER XXIII

WE ORGANIZE A SORTIE

O'BRIEN was very clearly in a mood to shoot first, and make inquiries afterwards, yet even in that darkness he recognized my voice, and consented to lower the gun which was jammed against my breast. A hasty word of explanation served to make him comprehend who my companion was, and, with Dunn safely held between us, we wormed our way back to where Donald was lying breathing heavily, and occasionally moaning as if in delirium. He had not recovered consciousness, according to the lad's account, and I began to suspect concussion of the brain. I paused long enough to feel his pulse, which appeared rapid and strong, yet there was nothing we could do to relieve his condition beyond the application of water. I used O'Brien's belt to strap the Lieutenant's feet together, placed him in as comfortable a position as possible, and then, with strict injunction to the trooper to remain close beside both men, took up the extinguished lantern, and groped my way down the short ladder to the dismal tunnel, closing the trap behind me.

While the brisk action of the past half-hour had served somewhat to steady my nerves, yet the memory of that ghostly woman's face still haunted me, and I felt no inclination to attempt that passage alone in the darkness. ​The possibilities of murder lurked at every step, and while I was not truly afraid, I felt my flesh creep at the thought, and took precaution to light the lantern the instant I was safe at the foot of the ladder. Holding it well in advance yet not so as to blind my eyes, I hurried forward, watchful of the shadows, but with mind busy with details of the coming attempt at escape. Here certainly lay our only chance of getting away. If we delayed until after daylight, and Theilen's command arrived meanwhile we would be caught like rats in a trap. But if we could manage to strike Dodd's scattered followers from the rear, surprising them by suddenness of attack, we might succeed in breaking away, and, by swift marching, attain our own lines in safety. This plan offered a fighting chance, at least, and the more I studied it, the stronger became its appeal. I knew fairly well the physical surroundings without, where Dodd's men were posted, the points for concealment, and the straight road leading out of the valley. If my little band of troopers would only fight—and I had small doubt as to that—there could be little question as to results, provided only we struck before reinforcements arrived.

My passage was unobstructed, and I arrived at the bottom of the ladder stairs, having seen nothing but the bare stone walls, and the hard-packed earth floor, reflected by the yellow glow of the lantern. But at the top I met with a surprise which left me staring blindly, for the moment distrusting my own eyes: there was no opening into the hall! The mantel had been swung back into place, leaving me fronting an apparently solid wall. ​Everything on the inside was, seemingly, as we had left it; the revolving door must have been operated from within the house, and, as I searched in vain for any sign of a secret spring, I swore at myself for a fool for not having posted a guard in protection. Who could have done this? Surely that heavy mantel would never have swung back into position without human assistance. Who in the house would have any reason to operate it except Jean Denslow? The possibility of her escaping from that room in which I had locked her had not before seriously occurred to me, yet hers was a nature to dare much, and achieve. Besides, she would have an object in such an act, and sufficient spirit to carry it out. If she had done the trick, then she would be on guard within. I had no hope she would open to me, but the knowledge of Donald's serious condition might appeal to her. Partisan as she was, loyal to her cause, yet the woman in her would conquer. I rapped against the front of the chimney, pausing to listen, but hearing no sound in response. Then I put my lips close and spoke loud enough so I felt certain my voice would carry to the hall without.

"Miss Denslow, are you there?"

Nothing beyond the dim echo rewarded this effort; yet so convinced was I of her presence that I persevered, determined to say something which should arouse her to betrayal.

"I am Lieutenant King; we found Colonel Donald seriously wounded, in the tunnel, and I have come back after help. For the sake of his life open this door."

I heard her then distinctly, her voice sounding so clearly ​as to startle me by its nearness; apparently there was nothing between us but the thin steel of the fire-screen.

"Are—are you telling me the truth?"

"As God is my witness, yes; I am alone, and O'Brien is with Donald. If you care to save his life you must let me through."

"But I cannot! I do not know how the door opens."

"Pull straight upward on the andiron farthest to the north."

She obeyed without the slightest hesitation, and the mantel swung so suddenly I barely escaped being struck. The next instant, lantern still in hand, I was beside her, noting how she shrank back, half frightened, at my quick appearance from out the black recess.

"Don't be alarmed," I exclaimed hastily, feeling nothing must longer delay my plans. "No, you are not to go into that hole alone. There is something mysterious about the passage; we found Donald with his throat slashed, exactly as those others were, only he still lives, and I believe will recover. I mean to take you to him in a moment, but you must wait here until I come back. You will, will you not? I can trust you?"

Her face was white, her eyes full of appeal.

Yes, yes, but—out are you certain he will live?"

Even then these words, the deep feeling in the voice, hurt, almost angered me. There had been a time, a few brief hours only, when she actually seemed mine, not only through the formality of that strange marriage ceremony, but by reason of the awakening of her own heart. I recognized now how utterly foolish this dream was, yet I ​could not entirely banish the memory, or look into her face, and feel content. I felt like fronting and combating this fate which so completely separated us; this love born to her life before I had ever entered into it at all. Yet the uselessness of such an endeavor was so plainly apparent, the very bitterness made me smile. She was not thinking of me at all, merely of him; but for his wound, his danger, I should be still locked helplessly in that tunnel; for my sake alone she would never have answered any plea for release.

"There is no apparent reason why he should not," I answered, not altogether pleasantly. "There is nothing particularly serious about his injuries so far as I could discover. A surgeon and a nurse could bring him around in short order. The important matter is to get back to him just as soon as possible. No, Miss Denslow," and I caught her by the arm in restraint, "you are not to venture into that passage alone. I shall be back here in a moment to accompany you."

"But why cannot I go? You say he is hurt and suffering, and yet order me not to go to him."

"I merely request you to remain here for a moment until we can guard you through the tunnel."

"Guard me?" her eyes searching the dark opening. "From what? Is there any peril there?"

"Honestly, I do not know, but it is no place for you to attempt to traverse alone. I will not permit it. See, I am going to trust you fully to wait my return. Take this revolver, and watch that opening until I come back."

She accepted it, our hands touching for an instant, before ​before a vague suspicion of my real purpose dawned upon her.

"What—what are you planning to do? Take your men through here?"

"Yes," I acknowledged, already at the head of the stairs. "This is our opportunity for escape."

"And you believe I will be an accomplice? You intend to use me for the defeat of my own people?"

"No, Miss Denslow," and I came back, looking directly into her indignant eyes. "There is no manner in which you can possibly prevent our escape in this way unless you deliberately choose to kill me. You can do that, for you have my weapon in your hand, and I stand here unarmed. Are you willing to do that for the Confederacy?"

I saw the flush sweep into her cheeks, the gray-blue eyes falling before mine.

"No—no," she faltered, "not that."

"Then you are helpless to interfere. We are going out this way. I desire to take you with us to the assistance of Colonel Donald; but if it is your intention to make trouble, then we shall have to lock you up again. and leave you behind. Which is your choice?"

She could not doubt my sincerity, for the earnestness with which I spoke was convincing. Her eyes uplifted to mine for one single questioning instant.

"I will wait," she said slowly, "but—but I believe I hate you."

I bowed, holding my hat in hand.

"I would far rather you felt thus, Miss Denslow," ​I returned quietly, "than to be utterly indifferent toward me."

I caught her sudden look of surprise, the quick uplift of her face, but before she could find expression in words, I had slipped down the stairs to the hall. Masterson was in the doorway of the parlor, and stepped out into the hall as I came down.

"I did n't know where you could have gone, sir," he said, evidently pleased to see me again. "I went up stairs there once, but didn't see no signs of you anywhere."

"You were on the second story?"

"Yes; one of those women was makin' such a racket, I went up to see what the trouble might be. Seems she'd got locked in somehow, and I had to bust the latch to get her out. Blame pretty girl, too, but Reb clean through, I guess, for she hardly give me a word o' thanks, an' would n't come downstairs."

So that was the manner in which she had achieved her release! Simple enough, and all because I had forgotten the first principles of a soldier, the protection of the rear.

"Yes, she's Rebel, Masterson, and, as it happens, I locked her in there myself. However, there's no great harm done. But we've got business before us now. Leave two troopers at each of those front windows, and assemble all the others in the hall here at once."

They came straggling forth from the various doorways, blackened with powder smoke and sleepy-eyed from the long night vigil, yet a fairly tough-looking bunch of ​fighting men, and ranged themselves before me. They had scarcely had opportunity to observe me before in the rush of that first attack, but the cavalry officer's uniform I wore had an immediate effect, and they remained respectfully silent, leaning on their carbines, waiting for me to speak. I stood on the first stair, looking them over, waiting until Masterson was ready to report.

"All here, sir, except four at the front windows."

"Good enough, Corporal; sixteen I make the number, counting yourself."

"Yes, sir," running his eyes along the faces. "There was thirty-four of us left camp on this rampage, got a dead an’ wounded list o' ten so far. It was that first volley that dropped so many."

"Well, men,” I said soberly, "we're going out of this, but we are liable to have a bit of stiff fighting before we get away. I'll explain the situation, because you will have to operate in the dark, and each man must use his own judgment to some extent. although we will try to keep together. Those fellows out yonder are part of Donald's band of guerillas, with a small squad of regular cavalry. They'll outnumber us a little over three to one, but are scattered around the house, the main force bunched in front. I've been out and looked them over, and if we can strike them suddenly in the rear we ought to have them on the run in five minutes. They have n't any guards out, and I have found a secret passage leading underground to a negro cabin a hundred feet west of the house kitchen. But we've got to act at once, and before daylight, for ​another bunch of those fellowt are marching this way, and may show up at any minute. Are you lads ready for a scrap?"

Their faces, as well as voices, answered.

"You could count on the Third Ohio, sir, if you was goin' ter charge hell," said the Corporal, hit eyes blazing. "Was you goin' to leave the four at the windows?"

"Yes; order them to stay there and keep up their fire, until we come around and attack the bunch in front. Then have them throw open the door and join us. Are you boys ready?"

"All ready, sir; all ready," the tones eager and expectant, the grimy hands hard on the brown carbine barrels.

"Then come on by twos; Masterson, take the rear."

As I turned to step upon the stair above, two shots suddenly rang out in the upper hall, the sharp reports those of a revolver. Jean! It must be Jean! I leaped forward, the men racing at my heels.

CHAPTER XXIV

ANOTHER MURDER

SHE stood, crouching slightly, half-way between the stair-head and the end of the hall, staring into the blackness of the open fireplace, the revolver yet smoking in her hand. Her posture was that fear, controlled by will power. Already, half suspecting the truth, I sprang forward and grasped her arm.

"What was it, Miss Denslow? What were you firing at?"

The tenseness of her muscles gave way, and her slender form swayed back against the support of my shoulder, one hand clasping at my sleeve.

"At something there—there I God knows what; it looked like a woman, but such a face—such a face!"

"Yes, yes; I understand; I have seen the same," I said hastily. "It was in fear of such an appearance again that I gave you the revolver. Yet what is it—a vision of the brain, or a reality? I have examined every inch of that tunnel; I came through it alone ten minutes ago, and saw nothing. No one could enter from the other end, or from this, without being seen. The mystery puzzles me."

She drew away from my support, trembling still, yet already more resolute.

​"That was no vision, no spectre which I saw," she insisted. "See! there is a spot of blood on the screen. She came directly toward me out of that hole, creeping on all fours like a wild beast. I was near the head of the stairs endeavoring to hear what you were saying below. Something made me turn suddenly, and I saw her—saw her eyes, her claw-like fingers, the flash of a knife in her hand. Oh, it frightened me so: I stood there like a bird fascinated by a snake, but I had the revolver in my hand, and pulled the trigger—see! there is where the first ball went, straight down into the floor! I thought you would hear and come; but the sound of the shot nerved me, and, the second time, I fired straight at her, and—and—and she cried out sharply, and seemed to fade into that blackness there like a ghost. But it was no ghost; ghosts don't leave blood-stains behind them, and that is blood there on the screen."

Masterson edged forward, with cocked carbine, and bent down to examine the stain.

"It's blood all right, Lieutenant," he announced cheerfully, evidently relieved himself. "Whatever the young lady saw, an' took a pop at, was human enough, an' I guess we ain't got no cause to be held back here by no one woman an' a knife."

There was considerable sense in that.

"True for you, Corporal. Miss Denslow, let me have the revolver again. I'll go in first with the lantern, and you men follow as rapidly as possible. Masterson, help the lady, and don't leave her alone for a moment."

​We dropped into the hole one by one, picking our way down the ladder as best we could. I was first to reach the earth floor, and stood there, holding the lantern high above my head, its yellow rays feebly illuminating the rungs, until the last trooper came scrambling down beside me. It was an odd-looking party thus dimly revealed in that narrow space between those stone walls, the men's faces appearing sallow, their eyes staring about wonderingly. I edged my way past them to take up the lead again.

"This tunnel runs directly west, lads," I explained briefly. "There are no turns, and nothing to fall over. All you've got to do is walk straight, and follow me."

Masterson was next to me in line, the girl beside him, the whiteness of her face conspicuous. I smiled back into her eyes, but met with no response, and plunged forward, more angry with myself than her. The dull thud of the feet behind, naturally falling into marching step, awoke muffled echoes, and I flung the light as far ahead as possible down the tunnel. It was bare, unoccupied. What had become of that woman? Where was she when I traversed this black passage alone? Surely she could never have stolen in after me without being seen by O'Brien; and, if she had fled this way, wounded by Jean's shot, she could never get away through that trap door, without alarming those watchers in the negro cabin. Yet there was no place of hiding here—not even a skurrying rat could have escaped our scrutiny, and the lantern light flashed into every nook and corner in a vain effort at ​revealing anything suspicious. The mystery oppressed me, caused me almost to doubt the facts, and to question the evidence of my own senses.

At the foot of the short ladder I handed the lantern to one of the men—a young fellow, with slight moustache, I remember—taking his carbine with me with which to pry up the trap door.

"Hold the light until all are up," I commanded, "and then blow it out before you climb the ladder."

From the floor of the cabin I reached down, and Masterson passed up the girl, my hands steadying her as she clambered eagerly up. In the darkness I could not see where the wounded man lay, but I managed to touch O'Brien, whispering to him to take her at once to Donald. I heard a kiss, the murmur of low voices conversing, and, with gritted teeth, turned back to hasten the movements of the men below.

"Up with you, lads—no talking, but come up, one at a time."

I leaned over, counting as they came up, their forms outlined by the flame of the lantern in the tunnel. The last one clambered through the opening, and found room to stand in the narrow space. The soldier below, the light on his upturned face, still held the lantern level with his head.

"Shall I put it out now, sir, and come up?" he questioned, as though doubtful of his former orders.

"Yes—they are all here."

I saw him turn down the wick, and blow out the flame. In the dense blackness below I heard him set the lantern ​down, and place his foot on the first rung of the ladder. Then there was a single sharp cry—startled, agonized—a moan, and the heavy fall of a body. Without a thought I leaped through the hole down into the darkness. I struck against a prostrate figure, stumbled slightly, rattling the lantern with my foot; my extended hand gripped at something, which gave way, and I stood groping blindly about without a sound to guide me. I knew what had happened, and now, the first mad rush over, my heart was in my throat. I felt for the lantern with my foot, found it at last, and managed to apply a match to the wick. At the foot of the ladder lay the soldier, a knife thrust in his throat, his head bent back, his dead eyes staring up at me, in the grip of my fingers was a rag, a strip of red calico, evidently ripped from a dress. That was all. I ran down the tunnel a dozen steps, throwing the light in advance, but saw nothing, heard nothing. The very mystery of it made my flesh creep, and halted me, peering here and there, afraid of my own shadow. That fiend of a woman was there somewhere, skulking in the blackness; we had passed her, and she had stolen along behind us, waiting a chance to strike down some straggler. But where in God's name could she have hidden? Three times I had been through there, searching every inch of the way, and discovered nothing. Who could she be? What spirit of hell could cause her thus to strike down innocent men? For the instant—puzzled, perplexed—I almost doubted her reality, deeming her an illusion, a dream. Yet that dead man yonder was no dream; this strip of red calico, still clutched in my hand, no illusion.

​With heart beating rapidly I retraced my steps, moving backwards, the lantern held before me. Masterson, with two troopers, was at the foot of the ladder bending over the motionless form. The Corporal straightened up, his face white.

"Somers is dead, sir," he said, his voice full of horror, "knifed in the throat."

"Yes, Corporal. It is part of the mystery of this house. Within forty-eight hours two men have been killed in exactly the same way in those rooms above, and one lies in the cabin who was stabbed in this tunnel. Now Somers has gone, the assassin stealing on him the moment he put out the light. I jumped as soon as the man cried out, but was too late. All I got hold upon was this strip of cloth—whoever did the job must have fled down the passage."

"That's a bit of a woman's dress."

"Yes, and it is a woman who has done these murders."

The eyes of the man left my face to gaze down the tunnel, the same questioning thought in each mind.

"That is part of the mystery of it, lads: who is she? what is her object? where can she hide? We have just come through this way, and there has n't been a spot hidden from us big enough to conceal a mouse. It's my third trip through here to-night, and I have examined the walls from end to end. And yet that woman must have been in here somewhere. You heard the young lady say she shot at the creature who disappeared in this passage. She must have hidden somewhere, and then skulked along behind us, hoping to get a victim. Poor ​Somers proved to be the one, and now the fiend has disappeared again."

"How far did you go?"

"Half way to the other ladder. We have n't time to search now, or we shall be too late to save ourselves. It is almost daylight."

There was a moment of silence, the men breathing heavily from excitement, casting uneasy glances about them, and nervously clutching their carbines. I saw faces peering down at us through the open trap.

"Take the body up the ladder, and I will hold the lantern so you can see," I commanded, my determination made.

They went at the gruesome job reluctantly, yet evidently glad enough to get out of the hole, two of them lifting from above, with Masterson helping below. As the Corporal's legs disappeared I mounted close behind, holding the lantern beneath and laying hold of the trap before I extinguished the light. It was with a distinct feeling of relief that I closed the heavy door and stood upon it. I felt a new man as I straightened in the upper air, the heavy breathing of the troopers, closely pressed together in the narrow space, alone telling me of their presence.

"O'Brien!"

"Yis, sor."

"Everything right here?"

"Jist about as ye left it, sor, only the Colonel seems to have got part of his senses back, an' the other fellow swore so loud I bucked him with a bit o' rag. Av ye'll ​keep still, sor, I think ye'll hear some noise jist back of the cabin."

We were instantly quiet, the men holding their breath to listen. I could distinguish a sound as though of moving bodies, but was unable to guess at the cause.

"What is it?"

"Horses, sor. They've got them picketed out there—some Reb, an' some Yankee, no doubt."

I crept to the door and took a survey without. So far as I could perceive, the situation had not changed in the least. Over to the eastward was some slight promise of the coming dawn, but there still remained time in which to carry out my plans if we moved promptly.

"Masterson, leave two men here to guard that trap and the prisoners. They will remain until they hear the sound of firing in front of the house, and then mount and join us. We'll leave horses for them. You take half our force and clear out the guard on the kitchen porch—there are six men there. Make it quick action, and as soon as the job is accomplished fall back here behind the cabin. O'Brien, with two of the troopers, attend to any scattered Rebs you find along the north side. The rest of us will see to the horse-shed, and, inside of ten minutes we ought to be in saddle. Don't fire a single shot more than is necessary. Do you understand your work?"

There was the murmur of an answering voice or two, and the shuffling of feet.

"All right then; hit swift, and hard. Masterson, take the six men nearest you."

​They filed past me, one by one, crouching down in the shadows just outside the door.

"Now, O'Brien, select the next three, and steal around the other side of that negro cabin. As soon as Masterson goes forward make a run for those bushes along the carriage drive. The rest of you fellows come with me."

I was beginning to enjoy myself now, all memory of the woman in the tunnel, all recollection even of Jean Denslow, driven from my mind by the pressure of action, the necessity of command. I crept to the end of the logs, my men at my heels. Out of sight, yet not far away, a number of horses were champing at their bits, and stomping about uneasily. Some one on the kitchen porch laughed, and a man walked to the well for a drink of water. I turned back, until I could see the crouching figures of the Corporal's squad.

"All right, Masterson," I said, "Go in."

CHAPTER XXV

FROM BATTLE TO LOVE

ISAW them rise swiftly to their feet, and slip noiselessly along the protecting side of the cabin, the dull gray of the eastern sky already rendering things slightly visible; but I waited for nothing more. We likewise had our work to accomplish. A dozen swift steps brought us to the horse herd, nor did we fire a shot, the single guard being so surprised at our unexpected appearance, as to fail even in speech. The horses were tied along a rail fence, completely equipped, exactly as they were captured at the time of first attack, and my little party swung hastily into saddle, gathering up the bridle reins of as many other horses as we could safely lead. As I held my own bunch back a moment, so as to give all the men time to gather more closely in, three shots—two the sharp reports of carbines, the third the gruffer note of a musket—sounded beyond the negro cabins, while, in the dim light of the dawn I caught glimpses of men gathering around the corner of the house. Then more shots began to sputter along the north side, two of the swiftly running figures dropping in their tracks, with spits of flame shooting forth from the black shadow of bushes lining the driveway. The surprise was complete, the two squads performing their work thoroughly. ​Now it was our turn. The troopers were battling with the horses, restive from their long night's quiet, excited by the firing, the four I held struggling at the rein furiously, my mount rearing as if about to throw himself backward.

"Forward!" I cried, my voice barely audible above the hubbub of hoofs. "Hold them to it, boys!"

The others met us at the corner of the house, the daylight sufficient by now to make identity certain; slinging their carbines, they grasped the nearest reins and sprung up into the saddles. It was seemingly the work of an instant, and, in another, Masterson and myself had forced them into irregular line; the rearing, plunging horses were brought under control, the faces of the men showing eager and alert in the gray dawn. They felt the straining bodies between their legs, and all the joy of the cavalry service was in their hearts. They could fight now in their own way—with the reckless dash of the trooper.

"Any one hurt, Corporal?"

"No, sir; it was an easy job."

"Your men here, O'Brien?"

"Ivery wan, sor."

"All right; draw revolvers; forward march; trot."

We swept down the broad driveway in two lines, the men widening their distances so as to give room for sabre play when necessary, Masterson and I slightly in advance. The gray dawn already revealed our surroundings clearly; the ash-covered roadway, the bushes along its edge, the row of trees beyond, a long tobacco shed at the left, the half-open gate almost directly in front. We might have ​ridden straight for it, and, possibly, escaped without the exchange of a shot, but the spirit of fight was upon us now—we wanted to charge those fellows, ride them down under the horses' hoofs, scatter them to the four winds. As we whirled recklessly about the corner, every man riding low, every eye forward, we saw the enemy at the edge of a grove, some kneeling, others standing. It was merely a glimpse, and then they fired—an instant too quick, perhaps—the irregular cracking showing lack of discipline, the cloud of smoke hiding them again from us. I felt my horse leap as if touched; two or three in our front rank went down, but there was no halting. My mount caught his stride, and I drove in the spur, yelling the charge, hearing the thunder of hoofs behind mingled with an exultant cheer from the men. We drove through the rising smoke cloud like a thunderbolt, and were on them, our revolvers spitting viciously to right and left, our horses pawing at the fleeing figures and at the clubbed muskets with which they sought to fight us back. We went through them as if they had been paper; some ran for the fields, scrambling over a fence, but the main body, still bunched together, firing as rapidly as they could reload, Dodd cuising in the midst of them, made for the shelter of the grape arbor. The fierceness of our rush carried us through the grove out onto the turf of the open lawn, the men struggling with their horses, in an effort to re-form. Out from the front door sprang the four troopers left within, running eagerly for the riderless animals, while the two guards from the negro cabin came spurring madly around the corner of the house, anxious ​to join their comrades. Half formed, the men spurring their frenzied horses into some semblance of line, we swept down upon the fleeing guerillas, seeking to overtake them before they could attain shelter. It was a helter-skelter race, the bang of musketry punctuated by the sharp revolver reports, and the shouts and yells of the combatants. We reached the rear runners, riding them down remorselessly, but our horses swerved at the arbor entrance, two plunging forward throwing their riders, the others debouching sharply to the left, the troopers sawing at the reins in vain effort at control. The black which I rode was for the moment perfectly unmanageable, rearing and plunging, the grip of my knees alone keeping me in the saddle. We crashed through a fringe of bushes, that served somewhat to protect us from the increasing musketry fire, enabling me to thrust my smoking revolver back into the belt, and thus, both hands free, obtain some control over the frightened brute.

It was fully daylight now, every surrounding object clear to the eye, and my little squad circled about, instinctively forming themselves for another charge. I swept them with my eyes, debating whether to try an advance on horseback, or to dismount and endeavor on foot to dislodge the enemy. Suddenly O'Brien swept his hand to the east, and I perceived a party of horsemen emerging from the weeds, breaking into a sharp trot the instant they attained the open ground. The movement was plain enough—Theilen had arrived, already understood the situation, and was pushing his force forward to strike us in the rear. Within five minutes we would be helpless, ​every avenue of escape blocked. This was no time to consider strategy or attack—we must ride for it, ride hard and fast. I swung my horse around.

"Close up men! by fours into line! ride for the gate, and the road beyond. Corporal, take the lead, and I will cover the rear. Don't spare your horses."

Every man knew, realized fully the peril threatening us. Dodd's gang had not yet perceived the advance of reinforcements, and were holding their fire expecting us to charge. Instead we wheeled to the right and rode straight at the open gate. Behind us, but not yet within shooting distance, we could already hear the pounding of the hoofs of Theilen's column, as they spurred forward in pursuit. A few muskets barked from the grape arbor; some fellow lying hidden in a corner of the fence let drive, sending the Corporal headlong; then we were outside, on the hard-packed road, the men riding recklessly, bent low over their pommels, urging their horses to the utmost. I must have been fifty feet to the rear, trusting to my horse, half turned about in the saddle so as to watch our pursuers. I never knew what happened, whether the animal stumbled, or fell from a wound, but suddenly I was shot through the air, everything blotted out in an instant as I came crashing down to earth. My last memory was of seeing Theilen's horsemen crowding through the gate, a hundred yards away, yelling and shaking their guns; of a dozen men on foot running across the open, puffs of white smoke showing their efforts to reach us at long range; and then I was gone—gone into black oblivion.

​I was in an invalid's chair when I came back to consciousness, lying as though upon a bed, yet fully dressed. Someway as my hands groped about, telling me this—for everything was speckled before my eyss—I thought of Judge Dunn, and of the chair in which he sat when I last saw him. I felt no pain, only a dull ache extending through both body and head, and slowly the disfiguring mist cleared from before my eyes, and I began distinguishing objects. At first they were vague, shapeless, unfamiliar; but as I stared at them, the delirium left my brain, and they assumed natural proportions. The room was a strange one, nothing bringing back to me any recollection of the past. It was large and square, having four long windows, three of the curtains being drawn, the fourth sufficiently raised to permit a gleam of sunshine to extend partly across the rich carpet of dark green. The furniture was that of a well-appointed chamber, of light wood, giving to the apartment a clean, cheerful appearance. An unusually large mirror topped the dresser, and I caught sight of myself in the glass, marking the pallor of my face, rendered more noticeable perhaps by a bandage about my forehead. Wherever I was it was evident that neglect was not my portion, and if this was prison, capture was not altogether an unpleasant experience. Still the situation puzzled me, especially as memory returned, and I recalled the incidents of the fight, my fall, and the nature of my probable captors. Those fellows would not show much mercy, for we had certainly cost them dearly; and I could not imagine Calvert Dunn, or Dodd, bringing me into such comfortable quarters as these. ​Either other influence had prevailed, or else Federal reinforcements had arrived in the nick of time, and driven the guerillas from the field. This was the most reasonable supposition, for by now I was beginning to guess where I was—this must be the front chamber of the Dunn house. I had explored it in the dark, yet recalled enough of the interior arrangement to feel convinced of its identity. I had to turn slightly to see the door; it stood partially ajar—proof either that I was not being held prisoner, or else that I was considered too badly injured for escape.

I felt no pain, otherwise than the dull aching, and sat up, throwing aside the quilt which covered me. I moved my limbs, testing them, fearing I must be hurt more seriously than was apparent to account for all this care, yet discovered them equal to every requirement. I was partly upon my feet, with a hand grasping the arm of the chair, because of a slight sensation of dizziness, when the door was pushed silently back and a woman took a single step within, instantly pausing, her eyes upon me. It was a face I had seen but once before, yet instantly recognized—the rather weak face of Lucille Dunn, its only claim to beauty the large dark eyes. My sudden return to life and activity must have greatly surprised her, for she stood staring at me in speechless bewilderment; then, before I could move, she slipped back into the hall and disappeared. I heard her call something outside, and had advanced half across the room, when Jean came in quietly, closed the door behind her, and faced me, her lips firmly set, her eyes upon mine.

"I had not anticipated so rapid a recovery," she said ​slowly. "You were still unconscious when I left a very few moments ago."

"You have been my nurse?"

"Lucille and I together; perhaps I may call myself the head nurse."

There was something about her manner which made me anxious to learn the truth as to my situation.

"Am I a prisoner, Miss Denslow?"

"You are not. Colonel Donald and I are not entirely ungrateful. You have been left here wounded, and in our care, but at liberty to depart whenever you are able, and desire to do so. We do not care to feel under obligations to you personally."

"You speak very coldly."

"As I have ample reason to. If Lieutenant Elbert King will be seated I will explain the situation more in detail."

I sank back into the chair, instantly aware that she knew me now, that the moment I had dreaded so long had arrived. There was a certainty in her tone which convinced me any denial would be useless. Loss of blood had left me weak and faint, yet I sat up straight enough, my hands on the arms of the chair, nerved by excitement to face whatever might be impending. The girl's voice was low yet clear, vibrant with feeling, but with no touch of anger.

"First I will explain briefly your present position," she began, "so that henceforth there can be no misunderstanding between us. During the retreat of your men—the majority of whom got safely away—your horse was shot, ​and you were thrown upon your head and rendered unconscious. That occurred soon after daylight this morning, and you have remained in that condition until a few moments ago. It is now late in the afternoon. The mounted men followed your troopers, skirmishing with them as far as the ridge road, but some of those on foot, finding you still alive, brought you back here. Through the authority of Colonel Donald you have been left here practically unguarded, and, in remembrance of services rendered us both, we have decided to give you an opportunity for escape. We have no desire to be outdone in courtesy by a Yankee."

"Colonel Donald, then has recovered? Does he remain here?"

"He has regained sufficient strength to resume command. His chief lieutenant was killed during the action, and he felt obliged to accompany his men for the present."

"And Lieutenant Dunn?"

She smiled slightly, a welcome relief to the fixed sternness of her lips.

"He would have liked greatly to remain as your guard, but was persuaded to convey the prisoners, and wounded, to the Confederate camp. I imagine he may return when that duty has been completed. There seems to be some trouble between Lieutenant Dunn and Lieutenant King."

"Entirely upon the part of the former, although I confess, not wholly without cause. The exigencies of war have compelled me to handle Lieutenant Dunn somewhat roughly on two occasions, yet that should be excusable between fighting men. There may be other reasons."

​"What, may I ask?"

I met her questioning eyes fairly, convinced that a certain amount of boldness would not be amiss, and eager to learn the real nature of her feelings.

"Principally, Miss Jean Denslow."

"Oh, indeed!" very prettily simulating surprise, "and what possible interest can you both have in that young lady?"

"You ask seriously?"

"Most assuredly. Who could be more deeply interested than I?"

"Then I will answer frankly. If I mistake not, you were at one time engaged to Lieutenant Dunn."

"Very true."

"And you are now married to Lieutenant King."

She leaned back against the dresser, her cheeks flushed, evidently struggling for self-control.

"Are you not mistaken? I had supposed my husband to be Sergeant King, of Reynolds's Battery."

I leaned toward her across the chair arm, endeavoring to see into the depths of her eyes, but she veiled them behind lowered lashes, and I was compelled to answer blindly.

"He was Sergeant King at the time of your marriage, yet I think you have no doubt as to who he is now."

"I have not had a great deal at any time," she said, looking at me directly, "although I could not be sure. The night of that unfortunate occurrence you seemed to regret my predicament, and expressed a desire to make my burden as light as possible. Would it not have ​been best when you came here, to have informed me as to your identity?"

"Yes, if the relationship between us had been the same."

"Had been the same! What do you mean?"

I took a deep breath, mustering my courage to face whatever fate might have in store.

"This, Miss Jean," I said gravely, my voice trembling in spite of every effort to hold it firm. "Since then I have learned to love you."

CHAPTER XXVI

I TALK WITH JEAN

FOR a moment her intense surprise robbed her of all power of speech, her round throat swelling, one hand pressed upon her heart. So still was everything I could hear a bird singing without, and the rustle of wind through the leaves.

"You have learned to love me—me?" she faltered at last, incredulously. "I did not expect to hear you say that, Lieutenant King."

"Yet I have said it," I insisted, "because it is the truth; and it is time, is it not, that the truth should be known between us?"

Her head drooped upon her hands, her arm supported by the dresser, and she remained silent, her slight form trembling perceptibly.

"Do you blame me for what occurred that night?"

She uplifted her eyes quickly, looking frankly into my face.

"You perhaps did the most natural thing, although I sincerely wish it had never occurred. No, I do not blame you; I—I have never felt in that way toward you. It is strange, is it not?" straightening up, and now looking me again frankly in the eyes. "There is certainly ​every reason why I should feel otherwise. I have no sympathy with your cause; all I love is connected with the South, and I am a thorough Rebel. Seeking to serve your flag you did me as grievous an injury as a man could do a woman. At first I was angry, indignant; I could have killed you, and felt my anger just. I can never understand the change which came over me, for, when we finally parted that night, we were almost friends. I have never been able to think of you since as an enemy."

"You have thought of me, then?"

"Could I do otherwise? Sergeant King certainly wrought havoc enough to make immediate forgetfulness impossible. Then Lieutenant King appeared—the artilleryman changed into a cavalry officer—but in voice and manner continually reminding me of the former. I did not know you were the same, but suspected it. I wanted to avoid you, yet that was impossible, and I have been compelled to accept your help, to trust and confide in you. Not only am I personally indebted to you, but you have served others who are near and dear to me. I had almost forgotten you wen; a Yankee, except for the constant reminder of your uniform. I even felt that we were destined to friendship, in spite of all the barriers between us; but now—now you have spoiled everything."

"I? How?"

"By your avowal—your expression of feeling toward me. You must have spoken those words in jest, and yet they are not easily forgotten."

"In jest!" and I arose to my feet, indignant that she ​should even suggest such a possibility. "Miss Denslow, you do not mean that; surely my sincerity can be felt. Perhaps I ought not to have spoken thus; it may be you have no right to listen. But I insist I have said no more than the truth. I realize now that from the moment of first seeing you while conversing with the old negro in the shed on your father's plantation, I was unusually interested in you. That first impression might, indeed, have passed away, had we not again been thrown together upon terms of peculiar intimacy. A certain tie was contracted between us which caused me to think of you even while we were absent from each other. I could not remain indifferent under such circumstances—could you?"

She hesitated, drawing slightly back, yet her honesty compelled a frank avowal.

"No, I—I could not be entirely indifferent."

"Human nature would prevent," I went on, encouraged by even this slight admission. "But our relationship was not destined to end even there. Some strange fate seemed to draw us together. My duty led me here, to meet you again under peculiar circumstances, and in the midst of peril compelling you to trust me. I believe now, Miss Denslow, that the seeds of love were in my heart from the moment of our first meeting, but the intimacy of the past few hours has brought the blossom. Legally I am your husband, and I cannot forbear telling you that my heart is yours also, although I feel I have no right to say this, or to force myself between you and another."

​She looked at me in strange bewilderment, her cheeks flushed, her breath rapid.

"I—I do not quite understand; you—you mean Calvert Dunn?"

"Certainly not. You forgot I have already overheard your opinion of the Lieutenant. My reference was to Colonel Donald."

"Oh!" the exclamation of surprise came through her parted lips without effort at restraint. "To Colonel Donald? You mean—"

"That I am not blind to your feeling toward him. Not only your actions, but your words as well, have convinced me that he is more to you than any of us. Am I not correct?"

"I deny the right of Lieutenant King to question me."

"But not that of your husband. This relationship, oddly as it came about, disagreeable as it may be to you, surely entitles me to know the truth."

She hesitated, her lips tightly compressed, as though thus holding back her first impulse to answer.

"Why do you ask this?"

"Because you are legally my wife, because my heart also claims you, and I cannot give you up without cause."

"With cause you will? With cause you will renounce all claim upon me, relinquish all effort to hold me through this form of marriage? "

"Yes," I assented soberly, "I will endeavor to act the part of a gentleman."

There was a moment of silence in which I looked at her, leaning against the dresser with eyes lowered to the ​floor. That she was embarrassed, doubtful, was plainly evident. Suddenly her eyes uplifted to mine.

"Ask me your question, and I will answer."

"Do you love Colonel Donald?"

She drew a quick breath, but there was no faltering in her steadfast gaze.

"I do," she said quietly. "Is that all?"

"That is surely enough," bitterly, "as it leaves me nothing further to hope for."

"Is that not best. Would you wish me to act less frankly?"

There was something in the depths of those gray-blue eyes which I could not fathom; something which seemed to contradict the speech of her lips, and to lure me on in unreasonable hopefulness. Perhaps it was a trace of coquetry in her nature she was unable wholly to restrain. Certainly, I was not insensible to it, nor could I feel, even yet, as one entirely cast aside.

"I accept your word, Miss Denslow," I answered quietly, "because I must, as I am pledged to it, and yet I feel you are not entirely indifferent toward me—that you do care."

Her lips were compressed, her hands clasping and unclasping nervously.

"Have I ever said otherwise?"

"No, but I wish you might feel justified in confessing. You say I am not a prisoner. I am strong enough now to travel, and, after what you have already said, there is no reason for me to delay departure. The demands of war are not likely to throw us together again, yet I wish ​I might bear away with me some knowledge that you do care, although it be ever so little. The real love of any man must have meaning to the memory of the one woman."

"And it has—will ever have to me."

There was an impulsiveness to these words which sent my heart throbbing.

"How-how could I be indifferent?" she went on, almost indignantly. "I am young, scarcely more than a girl, and this is all new to me; I hardly comprehend the meaning of it. But—but I cannot forget. No tale of romance could be stranger than the way in which we have been thrown together. You are a Yankee, an enemy to all I have been taught to revere, in warfare against my people, your first act a grievous wrong against myself, and—and yet I can't hate you. I've tried, but I can't! Oh, it is the strangest thing! I even believe I dread to have you go away, and yet you must, and I wish you to."

"Then I shall go, but you tempt me strongly."

"Tempt you?—how?—to what?"

"Tempt me to urge that the war will some time be over; tempt me to hope I may be welcome when that time comes."

"Have I said that?—have I said anything like that?"

"No; only that you are not indifferent; that you do care a little. It is not your words, but your eyes, which encourage me."

​

"I don't in the least want to like you," Jean replied, "but I do."

​"My eyes!" They dropped an instant, then opened wide, gazing into my own.

"Yes; I cannot explain, yet they seem to say I shall be welcome, even while your lips deny." I caught her clasped hands in mine, and separated them. "Which tell the truth?"

She made no effort to draw away from me, but laughed lightly.

"Neither, would be the safer guess," she responded, "for both are masks. You cannot understand me. Lieutenant King, and it is useless to try. I do not even understand myself. I am a continual contradiction; I don't in the least want to like you, but I do; I know I wish you to go away, and—and yet it is not so easy. You interest me; perhaps that is why I have such opposite moods. But really you must not take me too seriously either from the eyes or the lips. I do not promise that either tell all the truth."

"Where, then, can I discover the truth?"

"I am sure I do not know," innocently. "Would you expect to in a woman?"

"Yes, in a true woman. But you puzzle me. What are you?—a flirt?"

"Indeed no!"

"A coquette?"

"Certainly not, Lieutenant King."

"Then what?"

She was breathing heavily, her hands still clasped tightly in mine, her cheeks flushed.

​"Only a Rebel," she said softly, "an uncompromising Rebel."

"This would seem to imply that politics alone interfere."

"The spirit of rebellion might cover much more; yet surely that is enough to make anything further between us impossible."

"But there will be an end to this present conflict. One side or the other must win."

"I—I wish you would release my hands, Lieutenant King," she said, her lips trembling. "However this war terminates it can make no difference in our personal relations." Her face lit up with a quick smile, as she took a step backward. "I am an uncompromising Rebel, you see; one of the no-surrender kind."

I stood erect, gazing at her, unable to find any words for further argument, and thoroughly bewildered as to her real feeling toward me. I could not determine whether the girl mocked, or spoke in sincerity, and could discover nothing in the expression of her face to yield me a clue. Perhaps she s better able to decipher my state of mind, for she said gravely:

"I wish you to go away before either Colonel Donald or Lieutenant Dunn returns. The latter will certainly attempt to hold you prisoner, and it will be better for the former not to be any further involved in this matter. If you depart now, I alone am responsible for the escape, and I am perfectly willing to assume the blame. You will find a horse waiting you in front of the house."

​"But do I leave you alone here?" I questioned, recalling the tragedies of the past few nights.

"There is a guard of five men about the place, so you need have no fear as to my safety. The others will doubtless return before nightfall."

There was certainly nothing of compromise in either words or manner. She evidently did not intend I should go away with any lingering doubt in my mind as to her determination.

"This, then, is to be good-bye?" I asked, unable to refrain from one last effort.

"Yes, Lieutenant King. It shall be a friendly parting, but good-bye nevertheless."

She held out her hand, and I took it, almost unconscious of the action, my eyes looking into hers.

"You will go? You will not make this any harder for me?" she asked, a note of appeal in the soft voice.

"Yes, I will go."

I lifted the hand to my lips, and she drew back with flushed cheeks, holding the door ajar, to glance back at me.

"I thank you—good-bye."

She was gone, and, feeling the reaction of weakness, I dropped back again into the chair, resting my head upon one hand.

CHAPTER XXVII

AGAIN THE WOMAN

IT seemed to me that door, now tightly closed, typified everything, and I remained staring at it, sitting motionless, with hand shading my eyes. It was all over, then—all over. There might have been friendship between us, but not love. I had come within the radius of her life too late for that. I could not comprehend how I had ever hoped it might be otherwise. Surely no act or word of hers had been meant to give me encouragement. Yet there was something in the depths of those frank eyes which had led me on, which had aroused confidence, and awakened my dream. Even now, staring at that tightly closed door, I could not entirely convince myself all was over between us. That parting contained a message of the eyes which would not permit me to think of her as being indifferent, or devoid of feeling. There was a touch of mystery about the girl which continued to tantalize and puzzle me. Even as the memory of her glance caused hope to revive, I called myself a fool for yielding to it. Surely her decision was definite enough, and she had clearly meant this was to end all. By seeking her again I would only torture us both to no purpose. It would be far better to accept her refusal, and depart as speedily as possible. Indeed, as a ​gentleman, nothing else remained for me to do. Whatever her unguarded eyes may have seemed to reveal, undoubtedly it was no more than kindness, upon which I had no right to presume. Her heart belonged to another; she had definitely told me so, and this knowledge alone was sufficient to decide my action. I could no longer trouble her and retain my self-respect.

I got up slowly, feeling greater weakness than I had been aware of during the excitement of our interview, and advanced to where I could survey myself in the mirror. Evidently one of my nurses had bathed my face, but my uniform jacket was sadly torn, and my appearance was not improved by the cloth bound across my forehead. I removed this, disclosing a jagged cut at the edge of the hair, which had ceased to bleed, however, and I left it uncovered, replacing my hat so that the wound was scarcely visible. A bottle of brandy, half filled, stood on the dresser, and I took a swallow, the fiery stuff sending new life through my veins. The experience of the past few hours had marked me in various ways: I looked older, my eyes heavy from lack of sleep, my face white from loss of blood, my whole appearance that of a man tired and worn out by worry and strenuous exertion. I stood staring at the reflected face, dimly aware that all the appearance of boyhood had gone out of it, realizing that it was indeed my own, yet scarcely recognizing the changed features. It seemed impossible that peril and exertion could have left such plain outward manifestations.

I was still gazing into the glass fascinated by its ​revelation, when, it seemed to me, the door leading into the hallway opened slightly. I could perceive the movement within the mirror, although it was noiseless, and so stealthy that I should have missed it altogether had my gaze not been concentrated upon the exact spot. Inch by inch the door opened, until sufficiently wide to permit the thrusting forward of a face. Gazing into the mirror I never moved, waiting motionless to discover who this silent visitor might be. My hands gripped the dresser, every nerve throbbing, as I saw that countenance—the haggard, ghostly lineaments of the mad woman. Our eyes met in the glass, met as if fascinated, each standing rigid from surprise, too greatly startled to cry out. There was no doubt as tn the insanity in those wild orbs staring at me, and, for the instant, I could not escape their power. They seemed to hold mt as the snake does the bird. Then my fingers gripped hard on the dresser, and I swung around, desperately resolved to make the creature captive. With my first hostile move the door clicked shut, and, before I could touch the latch, my foot caught the edge of a rug, and I fell to my knees.

The delay was merely that of an instant, and then I had flung the door wide open, and was in the hallway. A glance told me that this was the second story, but the insane woman had disappeared as completely as if dissolved in air. I could see from end to end of that hall, past the rail of the staircase, back to the fire screen hiding the secret passage, but I was there alone. The screen was in its place, and every door, so far as I could see, closed. Where had that woman vanished so quickly? ​It would have been impossible for her to traverse the length of that hall, and operate the tunnel entrance in so brief space of time. Could she have gone down the stairs? I sprang to the railing, and glanced below; a guard, fully armed, stood just within the front door, leaning on his rifle. No one could pass that way unobserved; then she must be hiding within one of the rooms.

So certain was I of this that I took time to the search, opening door after door, and surveying each interior thus revealed with a carefulness which convinced me they were absolutely empty. I found not a single locked door, or anything arousing my suspicion. Two rooms were in slight disorder, as if lately occupied, but nowhere did I discover the slightest trace of the woman sought. Thoroughly puzzled I came out of the last room, that in which the Irish lad and I had been imprisoned, and, scarcely knowing why, paused at the head of the stairs, to glance down once again at the sentry stationed below. He was apparently a young fellow, roughly dressed in butternut, a wide brimmed and rather disreputable hat shading his face. He lifted his eyes to the stairs, and I nearly cried out in startled amazement—as I lived, it was O'Brien! I would have believed it merely a strange resemblance had not the fellow impudently grinned up at me, making use of a peculiar gesture, which left no doubt of his identity. O'Brien, in pretence of Confederate uniform, acting as sentinel here as one of Donald's guerillas! What was the game? What had it to do with my escape? with the mystery of this house? And Jean?—did she ​know? Could she have passed and repassed without noticing the boy and recognizing him? These and a dozen other puzzling inquiries came leaping to my brain to add to my bewilderment. Even as I stared almost expecting the fellow to disappear before my very eyes, I saw him step back, and peer cautiously first into the parlor and then into the library. Apparently convinced that no one was near enough to observe his movements, he ran swiftly up the stairs, still grasping his rifle. Halfway up he paused, his eyes keeping a sharp lookout below.

"For the Lord's sake, sor," he whispered hoarsely, "av ye're goin' to skip, now's the toime, before the Sergeant gits here wid my relief."

"What do you mean? Have you been stationed there to let me slip through?"

"Sure, that's the programme. It's the girl that fixed it all up, an' a damn smart one she is, sor."

"Not Miss Denslow?"

"An' who the divil else would it be? Sure she picked me out from the whole bunch for the job, an' niver cracked a smoile, but them pretty oies of hers was dancin'. Just now whin she came down she give me the wink, an' said I was to pass ye out, an' niver say nothin'."

"But what are you doing here? What's the meaning of this masquerade? "

The fellow grinned, bringing his hand to a salute.

"I'm Private O'Brien, sor, of the Confed army, but damn av I know what part. I wus lift behind whin me fellow sojers departed after the late fracas. Sometimes I tell thim I belonged to Dodd's squad, sometoimes to ​Theilen's, an" thin agin I came over here wid Lieutenant Dunn. Divil a bit o' difference it makes so I belong to some other outfit than the fellow I'm talkin' to. It's an illigant liar I am, begorra, an' that's how I hold the job."

"Yes, but how do you come here? What sre you up to?"

"Up to gittin' away as soon as the noight comes, sor," in a whisper. "Sure thim divils shot the horse undher me, an' I came down in in a bit of bush, so shook up I did n't know me own name for an hour. Thin there was no gittin' away, an' I lay there studyin' it all out, an' watchin' thim Rebs lavin'. The way they had fixed me, I could n't see how I was iver goin' to git shut of thim except by bein' a Reb myself for a whoile. So I shtole a coat—this beauty I've got on, sor—an' a hat; an', afther the most of thim had marched away, I came out an' reported to the Sergeant. He talked to me loike hell, sor, till the girl took me part, an' since thin he's bin civil enough."

"Miss Denslow took your part?" I questioned in surprise. "What did she say?"

The Irish eyes twinkled merrily.

"Bedad, she said she knew me; that I was wan of Liftenant Dunn's cavalrymen."

"She said that?"

"Begorra she did, sor, an' I stood lookin' at her purty face wid my mouth open. It was a beautiful loi, sor, an she niver cracked a smoile while she was givin' it to him. She'd a' fooled a betther man than that sergeant ​wid the honest way of her, an' thim eyes a-lookin' sthraight at him. They're great divils, thim girls."

"But why did she do this? What object could she have had?"

He rubbed his sleeve across his mouth, leaning over the railing to where he could look the full length of the hall; then he straightened up, his face solemn as a preacher's.

"Begorra, at first I thought it was me manly beauty that did it. Damned av I did n't, sor, she was that foine to me, a-smoilin' beautiful, wid her broight oies lookin' stiiraight into moine. The Sergeant an' meself both got it in the neck. But afther a whoile I woke up from me dhrame; but sure i' it was sweet whoile it lasted."

"What is all this you're talking about, O'Brien? "

"About yourself, sor. Begorra, you was the wan the loidy was thinkin' about all the toime. Ivery wan of thim smoiles was on account of you. Divil a bit did the loikes of her care for aither the Sergeant or meself, so she got you out of here safe. Bedad, she about the same as tould me so wid her own rosy lips not tin minutes ago."

This knowledge of Jean's interest in me quickened my pulses, but I had no inclination to discuss such a matter with O'Brien, or to question him as to what she may have said in excitement. Indeed, at that moment I felt more anxiety to solve the haunting mystery of the house than to escape. I was afraid to depart leaving that insane, murderous woman at large.

​"Did she tell you to pass me?"

"She did, sor, an' there's two horses outside, an' a clear field for the both of us."

"Well, O'Brien, I am not going," and my voice had the tone of determination. "Not now, at least; not until I can leave things in better shape here. I have n't any right to interfere with your escape, my boy, but I am going to clear up the mystery of this place before I leave these women unguarded. I have just seen that crazy woman again."

"Ye have?"

"Yes; she opened the door of the front chamber. I saw her face clearly in the mirror, but I tripped and fell, and she got away. God knows where she went, for I've hunted every room on this floor, and she could n't have come down these stairs without your seeing her."

"The tunnel, sor."

"I've thought of that, but she had no time to reach there before I was in the hall. There may be some other way leading into it, of course, which we have not yet discovered, but I am not going to run away leaving her here to commit more murders. What about you?"

"Sure I'm wid ye, sor."

"Then go back there and serve your guard. You can help me more in that way than any other just now. Keep Miss Denslow down below, if possible, and don't take your eyes off these stairs. When is your relief?"

"An hour yit, sor."

"Good: that will give me plenty of time. Get back to your post."

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE MAN IN THE TUNNEL

IHAD an hour, then, in which to attempt the solving of this mystery, and still retain opportunity for escape. I could rely upon O'Brien to guard carefully the lower hall and prevent interruption, while I thoroughly investigated the upper portion of the house, and again explored the tunnel. Indeed the first portion of this task was already accomplished, for I could recall no nook or cranny which I had not examined. Possibly the woman might have slipped past me in the hall while I was exploring the rooms, but I had left the doors open, and had watched so closely as to make this highly improbable. To my mind there remained only the underground passage to search, and I purposed making my search thorough in every particular. I went back to the front chamber, seeking my revolver, but found no trace of it, and was compelled to proceed unarmed. A bit uneasy at being weaponless I took the precaution of glancing again into each room, to reassure myself of the emptiness of all, before plunging into the tunnel.

The fire-screen moved easily, and I propped it back with a chair, so it could not be closed upon me without human aid, and lit the lantern, which had apparently remained undisturbed since our last trip that way. The ​shaft leading down was black and silent, and I held the yellow flame higher to examine the iron bars, arranged ladder-like along the back wall. I had scarcely thought of this seriously before, but now I observed there were three of these steps, and that the third was a wide strip which extended along the side hall. This rather peculiar arrangement aroused my curiosity, and, slinging the lantern to my belt, I clambered up, discovering a somewhat similar bar at the top of the shaft, which gave me a hand-hold, thus enabling me to walk the lower strip. A single step revealed the deception of the appearance from below. Before me was painted canvas, not rock, and the framework to which it was nailed yielded instantly to my grasp. The lantern revealed nothing but a bare narrow closet, with a door to the right. I clambered in, and opened the latter, looking out into one of those unoccupied rooms which I had previously examined. It was plain enough now how the woman had disappeared so suddenly—she had slipped into this chamber, and, by way of the closet, found entrance to the tunnel. And here must be where she had hidden before.

The discovery put me in better humor, for now much of the mystery was solved, and I could proceed with more confidence. Without doubt she was in the tunnel, or had passed through and escaped to the open air. I must make certain of this, and then block the passage so that her return that way would be impossible. I went back through the hall, and crawled into the shaft once more by way of the fire-screen, the lantern still dangling at my waist as I scrambled recklessly down the ladder. ​The venture did not seem to me a dangerous one; to be sure the woman carried a knife while I was unarmed, yet she could not approach unobserved while I bore the lantern, and my strength would easily overcome her weapon. Besides, she would never attempt an attack in that straight tunnel which afforded no opportunity for surprise. Always she had struck her death blows in the dark, and I felt no fear of her so long as that yellow flame flickered in advance along the stone walls.

Once safely below I removed the lantern from my belt and held it out before me, so as to throw its meagre rays as far as possible, and stepped forward into the gloomy passage. There was nothing to awaken alarm, the silence was profound, no sense of movement anywhere. So complete was my feeling of security that I even came to a pause, exploring my jacket pocket for pipe and tobacco, experiencing a desire to smoke. I found these, and was searching for a match, when something seemed to whiz out of the blackness, crashed against the glass of the lantern, instantly whiffing out the yellow flame. I dropped the pipe, reeling back against the wall, blinded by the intense darkness, and scarcely comprehending what had occurred. I could not even tell where the missile had come from; it was not a bullet for there was no report, yet surely the woman could never have thrown a stone with so precise an aim. This flashed over me instantly, for I was given no time for thought; something rushed at me through the blackness, and we grappled each other in mad, desperate struggle, yet the ​numbing sense of fear left me, as I realized that my adversary was a man.

He was a man, yet he fought with all the ferocity of a beast. It was God's mercy that I caught his wrist in my grip and forced a knife from his uplifted hand. I heard it clatter to the floor, even as I struck him with the lantern. Then it was naked hands, the fellow clawing wildly for my throat, while I drove my fist viciously into his face. I had an advantage in this, even in that darkness, for I knew how to handle my arms, and had him sufficiently located to make under-cuts efficient. I landed twice, the second blow sending him staggering back against the wall; but what he lacked in science he made up in savagery, and in rough bar-room fighting, and he came back, clawing at me in the darkness, and kicking viciously at my body. But for the clutch of his fingers on my jacket collar, screwing it tight in an effort at throttling, I would not have known exactly where to strike. But with this as guide I kept my left busy and felt flesh with my knuckles, driving in short-arm jabs until I had him forced to the wall, his head pounding the stones every time I hit him. Had it been daylight, had I been able to see, I would have known I had the fellow whipped, but in that hole, fearing treachery, or the use of some weapon, I kept remorselessly at him, until he sank at my feet, begging for mercy under punishment. Even then I kept my grip upon him with one hand, while the other groped about for the lantern. I found it, at last, the glass globe shattered, and managed ​to ignite the wick, the flickering flame barely dispelling the darkness for a dozen feet. But it revealed the face of my opponent, and I loosened my grip, staring at him in amazement. His whiskers were torn in the struggle, his face blood-stained, but I could not doubt his identity—Daniels the mountaineer.

What did this mean? It was the feud, then, back of all these murders. The woman had disappeared—vanished as mysteriously as she had come; but here was this man creeping into the house through the tunnel, knife in hand, urged by the same spirit of hatred, the same insanity of revenge. My heart hardened against him; pitiful object though he was, I felt no sympathy, no desire to aid. I could have trampled on him as upon a snake. Even as he recognized me, he read the truth in my eyes, and shrank back against the rock wall, his arms uplifted as if for protection.

"Was it you, Leftenant? By God, I did n't know."

"It makes no difference what you knew," I returned hotly. "You made no effort to find out; you tried murder, and there has been too much of that done here already."

"What is it you mean?—murder, here?"

"Yes, and 1 have no doubt you know more about it than I do; within forty-eight hours three men have been assassinated here in the dark—stricken down by the knife, and the fourth barely escaped with a serious wound."

He stared up at me, his head against the wall, as if scarcely comprehending.

​"Three killed? Who were they?"

"A Confederate Lieutenant, a private of the Third Ohio Cavalry, and Judge Dunn. The man injured but not killed was Jem Donald."

It seemed to me a new light almost of exultation leaped into the gray eyes, but it vanished instantly.

"My God!" he exclaimed incredulously, "Who did it?"

I caught his wrist, staring straight down into his face.

"That is what I want you to tell me, Daniels," I said sternly, "and I want it straight. That feud of yours is at the bottom of this thing. The killing of the two soldiers was accidental; whoever did the dastardly deed was after Dunn and Donald. Now I believe you know the whole story; your being here, your attack on me, is enough to convince me of that, and I am going to have the truth out of you, if I have to choke it out."

"As God is my witness, Leftenant, I know nothing. I did n't even know of the murders until you told me."

"What were you doing in this tunnel? Why did you attack me?"

He sat up, wiping the blood from his face with a red handkerchief, and thrusting one hand through his grizzled hair. He acted like one bewildered, unable to think clearly.

"I can't tell yer that, not just yet anyhow, but I never came yere to hurt any one so long as they let me alone. That's ther truth, sir. I've known of this passage a long while, and I've got reason enough to feel hard against ther ol' Judge, as well as Jem Donald, but ​I've fought 'em fair; that is, fair accordin' ter ther way we fight sich things out in ther mountings. I ain't no murderer, an' I don't come creepin' long in ther dark ter knife anybody. I went fer yer, but yer hed me trapped yere in this hole, an' I s'posed yer was one o' thet outfit, an' thar wasn't nothin' fer me to do but make a fight fer it. But I swear, sir, I never come in yere lookin' fer trouble."

The evident earnestness of the man brought me a certain measure of faith. Yet I could not entirely free him from suspicion.

"Where were you yesterday and last night?"

"Scoutin' Lost Crick," he answered promptly enough. "Las' night I took a notion to look up my own people."

I said nothing, and he went on.

"They're purty well cleaned out, Leftenant—killed an' skipped. Some of 'em are hidin' out in ther mountings an' some hev gone inter ther army. Dern if I ain't 'bout all thet's left fit ter keep matters bilin'. 'Twixt ther war an' hard luck, thet Donald crowd has just 'bout cleaned us up. Burnt my cabin, too." He got up upon his feet, his gray eyes burning like two coals of fire. "But, by God, sir, I'm yere ter be reckon'd with yit, an' ol' Bill Daniels has got a mighty big score ter wipe out. Maybe I never kin do it, but I'll git Jem Donald if I hev ter ketch him in hell."

The utterly unrestrained savagery of the man fascinated me. The feud spirit clutched him, and, as he dwelt on the wrongs done, he had no thought, no ​conception, other than revenge. He would have tortured his victim with all the relentless cruelty of an Indian. Hate held full possession of all the man's faculties—he could die happy taking Donald with him.

"You say they have destroyed your home?"

"Burned it ter ther ground, Leftenant—not a stick left: not even a hawg rootin' 'round."

I laid my hand on the man's shoulder, feeling a wave of sympathy. Perhaps he had been wronged, outraged; perhaps I should be as great a savage under the same provocation.

"Daniels," I urged earnestly, "I understand how you feel, but I know Donald, and I cannot believe him guilty of such an act. No doubt he has fought you in this feud of your fathers', but I guess he has always fought fair after the mountain fashion. I don't believe he is the kind of a man to go out there and destroy your home in that manner. Young Dunn might do it, for he is just cowardly enough, but not Jem Donald. He's a man, and fights like a man. I believe you are wrong. Some of his guerillas may have done it, but never by his order—I'd stake my life on that. I'm your commanding officer, and you have some confidence in me, have n't you? You believe I'm all right, and that I want you to have a square deal? Well now, play this out like a man, and stop being a savage. Come with me to Jem Donald, and let's find out the truth. Will you do that, Daniels?" And I held out my hand.

He stared at me in a moment's silence, apparently ​unable to find expression; then mouth and eyes hardened.

"I reckon maybe yer mean well," he said, "but yer don't understand."

"What don't I understand?"

"This yere affair. Why, Leftenant, we was both born ter a blood feud. Ye can't ever stop that till ther one or ther other is dead. Suppose I did go ter him, he'd shoot me down afore I could speak a word. Why not? By God, if he come ter me I'd do ther same. Besides, thet ain't all: I've hed houses burned afore," his voice choked, "but somethin' 's happened ter my wife an' the kids; I can't find hide ner hair of 'em."

"Surely you do not think they have been injured?—done away with?"

"It wouldn n't be ther first time sich a thing was done. Ther women fight as well as ther men in these mountings."

"Yes," I assented, remembering, "I have reason to believe it was a woman who committed the murders in this house."

CHAPTER XXIX

THE TESTIMONY OF A WITNESS

ICOULD hardly see the expression of the man's face in the miserable light of that smoking lantern when he leaped forward gripping me by the shoulder so fiercely that for the instant I thought it an attack. His voice alone reassured me.

"A woman!" he cried. "Are you sure?—did you see her?"

"Yes," I answered, beginning to understand his suspicion. "I saw her twice—it was the haggard face of an insane woman, with gray hair, and the wildest eyes imaginable. I was trailing her just now through this tunnel."

"She escaped this way? You are sure she went this way?"

"No, Daniels, not sure," and I began to experience compassion for him. "I last saw her face a few minutes ago in the front chamber up-stairs. Before I could get outside she had disappeared, and I searched the entire second floor without finding any trace. She could leave the house in no other way except along this passage, as the lower hall is under guard. What is it you suspect?—that it may be your wife? Did she know of this entrance?"

​"Yes," he almost sobbed, his head lowered, "she knew. I heard of it from one of ther workmen, and talked of it with her, but I can't believe it of Maria; I can't believe it. If she has ever done such an act she's insane." He stared about into the darkness, apparently dazed. "Who else saw her? Did any one else see her?"

"Only Jean Denslow."

"She saw her, and said nothing?—there was no recognition?"

"There was not a word said, Daniels. Miss Denslow appeared horrified at the face, but I am sure there was no recognition."

He buried his face in his hands, swaying on his feet like a drunken man, and I could hear his heavy breathing. I had never before supposed the man capable of such feeling, and his total surrender touched me deeply. Perhaps here and now was the opportunity to end this century feud, to bring the warring factions to some mutual understanding.

"See here, Daniels," and T grasped him by the arm, compelling him to lift his face to the light. "I am not ready to think this was the work of your wife. But there ought to be some way to settle it. Would Jean Denslow know her?"

"Yes."

"Then come with me to Jean Denslow. You are surely not afraid to meet her, and she will tell the truth."

"But you say ther house is under guard."

"True; but the soldiers don't know you. Miss ​Denslow is here alone; both Donald and Calvert Dunn are absent. I pledge you my word no harm shall befall you if you will go with me at once. If this strange woman is your wife Jean Denslow will know it. If not, then we must all unite to find out who she is. No matter what bitterness of hatred this feud has put in your heart, you don't want these cowardly murders charged against you. You are a fighting man, Daniels; now meet this thing square."

I could read the struggle in his face, yet I must have spoken the right words, for he managed to say at last:

"I'll go to her with yer, Leftenaut, I'll go; but I never thought I'd ever go ter one o' thet breed on no mission o' peace, an' blame me if I would to nary one but her. I allers reckoned she was squar, an' I ain't got no fight with her, but thar'll be hell ter pay if I run up agin any o' ther rest o' 'em. Yer'll bear thet in mind, sir."

"All right, Daniels," I responded, glad to get this much consideration out of him. "I am risking trouble, as well as you. The fact is I am practically a prisoner, but the girl has opened a way for my escape during the absence of the others. If they arrive before I get away, my game is up. In such case we shall have to stand together." He was gazing down the black passage. "Come on, there is no use hunting in that direction. You came from there, and if the woman escaped through this tunnel she is beyond reach now. Will you go with me to Miss Denslow? Give me your hand on it."

He was not yet satisfied, but the desire to find his wife, ​to learn the truth, was strong enough to overcome even the feud spirit, and, after a moment's hesitation, I felt the grip of his fingers. An instant I stared into the cool gray of his eyes in uncertainty; then turned and retraced my steps along the passage. The way was clear, the fire-screen standing open as I had left it, and the two of us crept out into the deserted hall, seeing no one. I peered cautiously down the stairs, finding O'Brien still on guard at the door. In a moment he glanced upward, saw me, and stepped instantly back to where he could take a quick survey of his surroundings. Apparently satisfied that he was alone, he came to the foot of the stairs, and asked in a stage whisper,—

"Did ye git her, sor?"

"No, not yet, but I need to speak with Miss Denslow. Do you know where she is?"

"She wint insoide the loibrary, sor, an' that 's the last I've seen of her."

"Get word to her to come to the front room up-stairs, but don't let any one else hear you."

I steered Daniels into the apartment designated, leaving the door open. The man seemed to have lost his nerve, from the way his hand trembled, although his eyes retained their deadly glint, and I knew he would prove dangerous enough if occasion warranted. I made him sit down in the nearest chair, and took my own position between him and the open door. I was not armed, and I doubted if he was any better fixed, except for the knife which he had picked up from the floor of the tunnel. But I no longer felt any fear of a personal contest with the ​fellow: tough and sinewy as he was, my knowledge of boxing made me more than his match, and I was determined that if any trouble started I should strike the first blow.

We may have been there ten minutes, our eyes on the door, myself standing rigid and expectant, but Daniels fidgeting nervously and evidently half suspicious that he was being made the victim of some trick. Twice he half arose to his feet, an oath on his lips, yet I succeeded in quieting him, although he sat on the very edge of the chair, ready to spring at the slightest alarm. I could not wonder at his trepidation under the circumstances, for he was in the home of hereditary foes, with only my word as assurance of safety. I heard the soft pressure of feet on the stairs, and then the swish of a dress in the hall. Daniels was on his feet instantly, crouching like a wild animal, but I held him back with a grip upon his arm.

"Stay where you are," I whispered sternly, "it is only the girl coming."

For the first second she appeared to perceive me only, her eyes searching my face in one quick, questioning glance; then she saw Daniels, and she reeled back against the side of the door, flinging out her hands, the expression of her face picturing startled recognition.

"You!" she burst forth, before I could speak,—"Lieutenant King, what is this man doing here?"

I caught the extended hand, drew her within the room, and closed the door. She seemed to yield to me without effort at resistance, but still stared into Daniels's face ​with inexpressible horror. Never before had I realized the depth of dread and hatred engendered by this death war. To her mind this man was a fiend, a murderer, a devil incarnate, from whom she shrank in unutterable horror. But I held her close to me, determined she should remain and listen, confident her woman's heart would respond to the human plea.

"Miss Denslow, wait," I urged eagerly, "wait and listen to my explanation. Daniels is not here to do injury. No doubt you have been taught to consider him as a deadly enemy, cruel and vindictive, but he is only a man who has been driven to acts of violence by the conditions of birth. He possesses all the feelings natural to humanity, and is here now in peace. Will you listen to me? Will you hear the story?"

She clung to me closely, still shrinking back from him, her eyes leaving his face to study mine, and as instantly softening in expression. That she trusted me was apparent, and my heart leaped to the knowledge with a fresh courage.

"Yes," slowly, almost reluctantly. "I will listen, but—but make him stand where he is."

"He shall not move until I am done. Miss Jean, and I can explain all in few words. You had scarcely left me alone, when this door was pushed open and I saw, reflected in the mirror there, the awful face of that woman who seems to haunt this house. I sprang toward her, but tripped and fell, so that when I reached the hall she had vanished. I searched every room on the floor vainly. Although my own escape depended on my getting away ​at once, I did not dare leave you comparatively alone here with that creature at large. I found O'Brien on guard below, and set forth myself to explore the tunnel once more. Half way through I met Daniels. It does n't make any difference what happened between us down there, nor how he came to be there; but I told him about this woman, that you, as well as I, had seen her, and he wanted to ask you something. Will you answer him?"

She looked at the man, wetting her lips, her eyes opened wide in bewilderment.

"Yes," she said, "I will answer."

Daniels was trembling like a leaf. I could see his hands shake, and he spoke with difficulty.

"Wal, Miss," he said, forcing his words out, "I reckon yer don't think none too much o' me, an' I 'spect I hev done some pretty blame mean things, but they were n't a darn bit meaner than what's been done ter me. When I went off ter ther war I hed a cabin up on Lost Crick, whar I thought it was safe, an' I left a wife an' three kids thar awaitin' my comin' back. Las' night I got a chance ter ride thet way, an' I found some hell-hounds hed burnt ther cabin, an' either murdered ther woman an' ther kids, or else drove 'em inter ther hills. I could n't git no trace o' them high er low, an' I nat'rally laid it up agin your people. Now, Miss, maybe I'm tough, but I'm man enough ter care a heap fer my wife an' ther kids jist ther same, an' I started out ter find what hed become o' them. Thet's what fetched me yere, an' I come fightin' mad. I reckon yer know what we-uns are in ther ​mountings, an' how hard we hate. Wal, I never hated no worse than I do now; an' if half I'm feared of is true, thar's sure goin' ter be hell 'round yere whin I do turn loose."

She stood staring at him with white face and parted lips, apparently only partially understanding the man's broken speech, yet, with womanly instinct, grasping the one essential fact—the strange disappearance of his wife and children.

"Mr. Daniels," she broke in impulsively. "I have been taught to fear you, but I am not afraid now," and she looked quickly from his face into mine. "You seem to think that we—that Jem Donald—has burnt your cabin, driven your family out; but it is not so; I know it is not so. I—I am just as sorry as any one to hear this; indeed I am, for I have met your wife; she—she was kind to me once, years ago."

The man choked, much of the sternness gone from his haggard face.

"Yes, she told me 'bout thet, an' it was because you'd know her thet I kim yere ter question yer. Ther Leftenant says you saw ther woman who has been murderin' in this house. If yer did, I want yer ter tell me ther truth—was it Maria?"

The girl's hands went to her throat, as if the unexpected inquiry had taken her breath, and for the moment she remained mute, her eyes on his, her slender form trembling. Then she conquered herself with an effort.

"Yes, I—I saw the face!" she answered, shuddering; the very memory seemed painful; "an awful face, scarcely ​human; it was white and haggard, with wild black eyes, and wisps of gray hair dangling on either side. It seemed to me like a vision of hate, and I cannot banish the recollection from my mind. But—but I never saw that face before—never; as God hears me, it was not your wife."

A long moment the mountaineer looked at her, apparently seeking the truth in the girl's eyes; then he collapsed into the chair, shuddering as he buried his face in his hands.

CHAPTER XXX

DANIELS AND DONALD MEET

ICOULD scarcely realize the truth—that this grim mountaineer, savage in cruel instinct, utterly devoid of human tenderness, responsive only to the demands of the blood feud, was yet at heart a real man, his heart wrung by sorrow, and weak as a child in suffering. The strain upon him had been too great, and with the reaction, he had broken down, his gaunt form shaken by sobs, his face hidden between his hands. Even before I grasped the full meaning of this unexpected weakness, the girl understood, and the woman responded. All fear, dislike, hesitancy vanished, and she stepped past me to rest her hand on his shoulder.

"I am so glad I can assure you of this, Mr. Daniels," she said softly. "I—I never saw your wife except that once; but she was kind to me when I needed kindness, and I have never felt the same bitterness since. Surely between you and me there is no quarrel. I would rather help than injure you. Will you not take my hand?"

The man raised his head, staring at her in astonishment. He had expected bitterness, reviling, but not this, and for the moment the honesty of her purpose failed to impress him.

"Yer mean. Miss, we are ter be friends?"

​"Certainly; why should we remain enemies?"

His lips trembled under the beard, his eyes full of bewilderment.

"I—I don't understand," he stammered. "Ther feud; ther years of fightin'; don't yer suppose I know who yer be?"

"Yes, of course, you know," her slender form straightening, but her hand still outstretched. "Yet if I can forget and forgive, so can you. No one of us can tell how this feud started. For generations our families have fought without knowing what they were fighting for. Both sides in this senseless quarrel have killed, burned, and destroyed. We have been born to an inheritance of hate. For one, I am sick and tired of it all; I am ashamed of my part in it. I want to act and feel like a woman, not a fiend. I don't hate you, Bill Daniels; I don't hate your wife or your children; I would rather do you good than evil. Can't you understand that? Can't you forget who I am, and accept my hand in the same spirit with which I offer it?"

As God is my witness, there were actually tears shining in the man's cold gray eyes, but I thought he would never move, never answer. He appeared paralyzed, stricken motionless and speechless. Then his hand, which had been convulsively gripping the arm of the chair, seemed to steal forth without volition, touched hers and clung to it in pitiful uncertainty. I could hear the beating of my own heart, the heavy, rapid breathing of both the others; and suddenly the girl sank to her knees, her head bowed on the arm of the chair, her ​fingers yet clasping the man's nerveless hand. She may have prayed in the silence—I do not know. There was no movement, no sound, Daniels staring at the bowed head like one in a dream. Then she lifted her face, and looked at him.

"I am glad you came," she said simply, her voice trembling slightly. "I—I have wanted to talk with you alone, for three years—ever since I began to be a woman. But I have been afraid of you; ever since I was a child I have been taught that, and it is hard to break away." Her lips smiled. "But I am not afraid any more; I don't believe you are a bad man; you love your wife and children, you are only like the rest of us—like Colonel Donald, like Judge Dunn—you were born into this feud, and have fought and hated because you knew nothing else. Is n't that so?"

"I—I suppose it is, Miss," the acknowledgment barely audible even in that silence. "I never remember back ter whar I felt diff'rent."

"I cannot blame you, yet it is an awful thing for neighbors to be hereditary enemies, to hunt and kill one another. It seemed natural enough to me once—before I went North to school, and came into a different environment; but now it is a savage horror. I want you to see this as I do; you have to think of me as a friend; I want you to feel the same toward my friends."

"Who do yer mean, Miss?"

"Those you have fought all your life—Jem Donald—"

"Not in a thousan' years!" he interrupted hotly, ​dropping her hand as if it were a coal of fire, and raising his gaunt form from the chair "Ye're a woman, an' somehow yer came at me jist right; but it's goin' ter take fightin', an' plenty of it, afore Jem Donald an' me settle our trouble. Thar's too many dead folks an' burned houses atween us fer any sich foolishness."

"I know there are," her voice and face exhibiting earnestness. "But, Daniels, this has not all been one-sided, this hundred years of feud over some silly quarrel. You have killed and burned, as well as those on our side. The one party has suffered almost equally with the other. And what has either gained?"

He stood looking at her, his deep-set eyes gloomy, defiant, stubborn. He could see and feel but one fact, and her appeal never really reached him.

"Maybe if all thet was true I might be soft 'nough ter be led by ye, Miss," he said, at last, gravely. "But yer've took a pore time fer ter plead peace with Bill Daniels. Maybe ef things was comin' my way I'd see it diff'rent, see it ther way you-uns do; but I ain't ther sort ter knuckle down 'cause I'm gittin' ther worst of it. Thet's whin I fight like hell."

"What is it you mean?"

"Oh, I reckon you-all know well enough. Ye've got us about wiped out; what was left afore ther war has been finished by these yere damn guerillas Jem Donald has turned loose in ther hills. I come back yere, an' everywhar I go it's a dead Daniels; an' yer ask me ter be peaceful!" He straightened up, his eyes hard. "I tell ye, I want my wife an' kids first. I ain't got ​nuthin' special agin you, Miss Jean. I reckon 'tain't your fault ye're what yer are; but fer Jem Donald, an' thet young calf of a Dunn, I'm layin' till I either git 'em, er they git me."

"But, Daniels, Jem Donald never destroyed your home; never drove away your wife or children. He would help you hunt them; I know he would."

The face of the old mountaineer had hardened into its usual expression of grimness, and I thought he already felt ashamed of his slight display of feeling.

"The hell he would! I reckon you an' I don't know ther same Donald."

"No, I don't think we do. I ask you to give the one I know a trial."

He shook his head stubbornly. "It's no use; soft words won't never settle our score." His eyes shifted from her face to mine. "Leftenant, I'm a-goin' ter git out o' yere; I feel like I was caught in a trap."

"Do you mean to insinuate that we are treating you unfairly?" I asked hotly.

"No; 'tain't you ner ther gal. You two are square 'nough. But this yere is ol' Jedge Dunn's house, under guard o' Confeds, an' 't ain't no place fer Bill Daniels ter be."

He took one step toward the door, then leaped backward, the knife out, and gleaming in his hand. Standing with back to the entrance, I neither saw nor heard anything, hut Jean's face went instantly white, and her fingers convulsively gripped the dresser. Then the knife dropped to the floor, and Daniels's arms were elevated.

​"I reckon yer got me," he said, the words sounding odd in the silence. Donald stood in the doorway, his face like that of a statue, the black muzzle of a revolver covering the mountaineer. It was all so swift, so unexpected, that, for the instant, we stood there rigid, actually gasping for breath. I recall the intense hatred in Daniels's eyes, actually turning them black with passion; Jean's attitude of startled amazement; and the almost expressionless countenance of the guerilla chief. He alone seemed cool, self-possessed, and capable of action. His lips smiled.

"I hardly understand the nature of this little gathering," he said slowly, "and it may be I am not welcome, but I am glad to see you. Bill Daniels, and I advise you to keep those hands up until I say otherwise. Jean, what are you doing here? What is the meaning of all this?"

These questions aroused her instantly, the color flooding back into her cheeks. Her first feeling was evidently that of indignation.

"I refuse to answer," she exclaimed, standing erect before him, "until you lower that revolver. Daniels is unarmed, and here to meet me upon a mission of peace."

Donald's face pictured his surprise, but he made no attempt to question her word. I saw his eyes wander from her face to that of the mountaineer; then he shoved the gun back into his belt, and leaned his shoulder against the door.

"Very well, little girl," his tone carelessly good humored. "I have n't exactly the same degree of ​evidence in this party, but if you hold hit parole, it goes with me. You can drop your hands, Daniels, only I advise you not to reach for the knife. Now, Jean, do you mind explaining the meaning of all this?"

That Daniels would have run for it if he dared was plainly evident. I saw him glance toward the windows, and then into Donald's face, his feet moving nervously. But the chance was too small, and his eyes fell to the carpet in dogged helplessness. I moved back, leaving the girl standing next to him.

"Then first answer me one question: Did you know Daniels's cabin on Long Creek had been destroyed?"

The Colonel's face sobered.

"I did not."

"Have any of your men been that way lately?"

"Not for several weeks under any orders from me. There may have been foraging parties covering that territory, but no report has reached me of any trouble."

"You have heard nothing regarding the disappearance of this man's wife and children? "

"I certainly have not, Jean," now replying with the earnestness of conviction. "Surely you do not suspect me of making war on the helpless?"

"No," gravely, "but our mountain feuds are heartless, and mercy has never been part of the code. Knowing what I do of the past, I cannot blame Daniels for his suspicions. Now listen, and I will explain this situation. Daniels discovered last night that his home had been burned to the ground, and could gain no information relative to the whereabouts of his wife and children. ​

"Which shall it be, Daniel, peace or war?"

​In despair, and, naturally enough, believing some of our faction must have been concerned in the outrage, he came here, stealing in through the tunnel. Me chanced to meet first with lieutenant King, and learned of the mysterious woman who has been living such horrible things in this house. His first thought was that it might be his wife, crazed by her sufferings and seeking vengeance. Discovering that I had seen this strange woman's face, and knowing that I had also met his wife, he was persuaded to come here and talk to me, in hope of learning the truth. It was a brave act, and proves the loyalty of the man's heart. I have given him no pledge of safety, but I do now: he is going from here unharmed, on my word of honor."

Donald stepped aside, leaving the door partially open and unguarded; his eyes were no longer on the mountaineer, but upon the face of the girl.

"I respect his purpose, and your implied pledge," he said gravely. "Was the woman Mrs. Daniels?"

"No," her eyes falling before his gaze, and the whole expression of her face softening. "It was a face I had never seen before."

For a long moment no one of us spoke, the silence impressive, the very air seemingly charged with possibilities of evil. I could perceive the doubt in Daniels's face, the vague suspicion of treachery. Before he could move, however, the girl, excited under the strain, broke forth impulsively.

"I—I don't want this to go on! There has been blood enough shed in these mountains over a forgotten ​quarrel. Won't you men stop it? For the sake of that woman, those children, homeless, won't you forget the past, and unite together in one cause? I ask it as a woman."

The thought was utterly beyond Daniels. I could see this in the steely glint of the eyes fastened on Donald; but the latter saw only the girl pleading, his face reflecting her mood.

"I am not a brute, Jean," he said finally, "and I have fought because I was born into it, rather than from choice. If Daniels will meet me half way, it shall be truce between us."

He turned his head to look at the other standing gaunt and grim, a bit of sunshine touching the grizzled hair.

"What shall it be, Daniels, peace or war?"

The silence of the mountaineer burst under the stress of pent-up passion, as if some dam had given way, his words tumbling over one another in torrent.

"Ye want me ter lie down now, do ye? Well, damn ye, I won't; maybe if I was on top like you-uns I'd talk 'bout peace, an' fergiveness, an' thet sorter thing. Thet's easy 'nough when everything goes yer way. But look at my side! You've got ther cinch since this yere war come; yer damn courts drove me out, an' yer guerillas hev raised hell from end ter end o' this region. A Daniels can't live yere any more; yer hell hounds hev burned an' killed an' stole till thar's nobody left ter fight ye. Thet ain't no time ter ask me ter quit. I did n't come yere ter talk ter ye, Jem Donald. I'll fight ye any ​day ye ever saw, but I'm goin' ter die hatin' ye. I don't want ter be no friend. I come yere ter ask ther gal a question, an' now I'm goin'. I reckon yer kin kill me first if yer want ter, fer I ain't got a weapon on me, but I'm sure goin' out thet door dead or alive."

I saw Donald take one step backward, his lips compressed, his hand falling to the butt of his revolver. Jean swept between us, her fingers clasping his arm, and then Daniels walked out, not a muscle of his grim face acknowledging our presence.

CHAPTER XXXI

OUR PLANS MISCARRY

THE gaunt, stoop-shouldered figure disappeared, and no one of us moved or spoke. Donald's lips were sternly set, his eyes burning, but Jean clung to him, her pleading face upturned. Then his fingers released their grip on the revolver butt, and his glance shifted to me, a slight smile breaking the grimness of his expression.

"Pleasant disposition, King," he said easily, and I jealously noted how his hand lifted, and rested tenderly on the girl's hair. "Really it would have been rather a pleasure to shoot the fellow, but I have never been favorably inclined toward murder; besides, the lassie here seems to be going over to his side."

"You know that is not so," she burst forth indignantly, drawing back from him. "I have as much to forgive as you, but have grown ashamed of such savagery. To his side! I am a friend to Lieutenant King, but does that mean I am disloyal to my country?"

Donald caught the girl's uplifted hand, the slight sarcastic smile vanishing from his lips.

"No, no, Jean," he insisted, "my words were a jest. I understand your position, and sympathize with it. But what can one do with that surly, revengeful brute? ​The only thing he can appreciate is hard blows. But I shall not follow him. or seek to perpetuate this quarrel. The war is giving me sufficient fighting without pursuing this poor devil any longer. I'll defend myself, Jean girl, and surely you would wish me to do that?"

She was looking up at him, clinging to his hand.

"Yes, I expect that. All I ask is that you let him go, and that you make no effort to do further injury. As he says, you have won; there is hardly a Daniels left to continue the feud. Now we can afford to forgive and forget. And you will: I know you will!"

There was a moment's silence, his hands clasping her fingers, his grave eyes upon her face.

"Will it make you glad to have my promise, little girl?"

"It surely will."

"Then I give it to you: no act of mine shall ever perpetuate the feud."

"You truly know nothing of Daniels's wife and children, or the burning of his cabin?"

"Nothing; but I am going now to find out."

"What brought you back so soon? You were not to return until night."

"My plans were disarranged by the news of a foraging party at work east of Lost Mountain. I sent Theilen that way to intercept their return, and rode back here myself, because, for the time, I had nothing better to do." He turned toward me. "Naturally I had supposed Lieutenant King gone before this."

​"I appreciate your generosity," I said, but not so heartily as I had intended, the suspicion coming to me that, perhaps, he was only too delighted to get me away from the girl so easily, "and I should have disappeared more promptly, but for the reappearance of that crazy creature, and my fear of leaving Miss Jean unprotected. If the same arrangements exist, I will now say good-bye to you both."

"Not quite so swiftly," his voice pleasant, yet with a touch of command in it. "You forget I am in the Confederate service, an irregular, it is true, and yet amenable to discipline. I like you, King, and you have served both myself and the lass well on several occasions. I wish to repay her debt, as well as my own, but, at the same time, feel no desire to face a court martial. Give me ten minutes first, and then the coast will be clear."

He bent down, kissed her tenderly, and faced me with extended hand. There was a lump in my throat which would not permit speech, yet I returned his firm clasp. He was a fine fellow; I could envy him, but I could neither dislike nor quarrel. Had it been Dunn I should have refused to accept freedom from him, but I understood Donald's motives, and respected the man.

"All right, old fellow, best of luck," he continued heartily. "Good-bye, Jean girl," and was gone.

Without word or glance, she moved across to the open window, holding aside the drapery of curtain while she gazed without. Apparently I was not in her thought, and she was watching for him, her head bent forward ​so as to see the front of the house. I heard the crunch of gravel under a horse's hoofs, saw her wave her hand. Then her face was turned toward me.

"Lieutenant King, you may watch with me," she said, smilingly. I came slowly across the room, scarcely realizing why I should prove obedient, and yet unable to resist her invitation. She held aside the curtain with one white hand, the gentle breeze blowing her hair. Together we watched the horseman riding swiftly across the field. Just before he disappeared he glanced back, and waved his hand. Then the girl turned, and smiled into my face.

"Do you like him, Lieutenant?"-she questioned simply.

"He has certainly given me every reason for respect. If we had met under other circumstances I should have valued his friendship highly."

"I am so glad to hear you say that. To me he is the noblest man living, and I want you to think so."

"Surely," I protested, a little surprised, "you did not suppose I would dislike him because he had come into your heart in advance of me?"

"Oh, no," the blood flooding her cheeks. "You are not one to harbor such prejudice, but I am going to think of you as a friend, and I want you really to care for those whom I care for. I have already emerged that far from sectional narrowness, Lieutenant. I can call a Yankee 'friend.' Is n't it almost a miracle? You can never know how bitter I have been; how intensely I have despised everything Northern. Somehow, you ​have taken that away from me, and I can never again feel the same toward those on the other side. I—I will always remember you."

It was not that the words of confession meant so much, but the girl's manner, coupled with this unexpected change in sentiment, seemed instantly to alter our entire relationship. She still stood, holding aside the curtain, her eyes downcast, her cheeks flushed. One hand was unoccupied, and I clasped it within my own.

"Don't," she said, almost pleadingly, yet making no effort to draw away; "you must not misunderstand. You are going away now; you must go at once. It is not probable we shall ever meet again, only we are never to be enemies any more, not even in thought. I do want you to know that."

"I thank you for that little, Miss Jean."

"It is not little," and she lifted her eyes to mine, almost indignantly. "It is a great deal. I would not say to many even what I have said to you, and my life has been lived under conditions which enable me to trust few. I trust you; I—I even think I care for you; I—I wish to recall you in memory as a friend; but, of course, you understand, that is all."

"All?"

"Yes; you are going away now; it is best so. My life is here in the South with my people. This war will be over some day, and courts reestablished. I do not know. Lieutenant King, whether I am legally your wife or not, but if I am those courts will divorce me. I shall endeavor to get notice to you, so you will also realize ​your complete freedom. You expect me to do this?"

"I suppose I do," regretfully; "but I would make any sacrifice to have it otherwise."

She was looking directly at me, her hand still in mine, her eyes gravely questioning.

"Do you really mean that?—really mean all you said to me before?"

"As God is my witness, Jean," I insisted soberly, "I do mean every word of it—I love you, earnestly, devotedly. There can be no evil in my saying this, even although I know the impossibility of your making any return. I can take no advantage of the relation between us; I claim no right to you, but I do confess my love, and I want you to know the truth. You cannot think less kindly of me for that?"

"No," the blue-gray of her eyes misty, her lips tremulous. "I—I am afraid I am so selfish as to be almost glad. Not—not that I wish you to love me; but—but it is someway a pleasure to know you care."

"Do you really mean—"

"Oh, no I don't take it that way. I ought not to have said this; I hardly know what I have said. All our acquaintance has been so strange as to leave me confused. I do like you. Lieutenant King, and I find it hard to part, yet nothing else is possible. You must go, and go at once, before the guard is changed. I pray you do not delay, do not linger here longer. I can say no more than I have said already; and your safety depends on departure at once."

It required all my power of will to comply, yet there ​was no doubting the earnestness of her plea, and I released the hand, feeling a last slight pressure of the fingers. Her eyes uplifted to mine, a yearning in their depths which seemed to intoxicate, craze me. The next instant she was fairly crushed in my arms, and my lips pressed against hers. It was over almost as quickly, and she had pressed me back from her, sinking into the nearest chair, her hands pressed against her burning cheeks.

"Oh, how could you? Now, now, you must go."

"But you forgive me, Jean? You forgive me?"

"Forgive you! It was more my fault than yours. Why do you make it all so hard for me? Don't you understand I cannot, cannot permit this? You are risking your life here. Go—go at once, for my sake, if you will not for your own."

I do not clearly remember what I did, for I seemed dazed, my brain inoperative, but I know I knelt and kissed her hand, and then backed from the room, my eyes upon her to the last. Outside, in the deserted hall, I came back to reality as though awakened by some shock, every detail of my situation flashing to my brain. I stood still listening—there was no sound from within the room I had just left, but I could hear some one tramping back and forth below. I peered over the balusters, discovering O'Brien nervously pacing from wall to wall, his eyes on the stairs.

"All clear?" I asked softly.

"Bedad, it is now, sor, but the relief will be here in foive minutes."

​I slipped down the stairs, aroused and alert, determined to make of value every remaining moment. O'Brien, his carbine grasped in one hand, opened the door silently, and I took one quick glance without. The porch and the walk below appeared deserted.

"Where are the horses?"

"Toied to the rail at the north end of the porch."

"Good choice; there are but few windows on that side. Give me your revolver. Have you cartridges?"

"Half a pocketful, sor."

We crept forth, closing the door behind us, and stole along under cover of the rail to the north steps, which led down to the carriage way. The two horses snorted and drew back, startled by our sudden appearance. I had my grip on the rein of the big roan, when O'Brien, who had stepped further out to unfasten the other animal, uttered a sudden exclamation of alarm. I sprang back to where I could see what he was staring at down the roadway. A troop of horsemen were emerging from a ravine to the left, and trotting toward the open gate. A glance told me they were Confederates, and that they were spreading out, fan-fashion, so as to surround the house. Already any attempt to escape by riding would be useless. There was but one open road, to dodge around the house, and seek some hiding-place among the shrubbery to the south. I gripped the dazed O'Brien by the arm, dragging him back behind the horses.

"Run for it, lad; around the porch, and into the grape arbor."

We were not thirty feet in advance of those spurring ​troopers. The first two rounding the house corner saw us, but, before they could throw forward their carbines, we had plunged into the shadow of the vines, running recklessly. A shot or two, fired without aim, only served to increase our pace, our only hope being to cross the orchard before others attained the rear of the house. Beyond that point the weeds offered concealment.

CHAPTER XXXII

THE FIGHT IN THE CABIN

HAD we been given a minute more we would have made it. Running almost shoulder to shoulder, recklessly, not even pausing to glance backward, we were within a hundred feet of the weeds, when horsemen swept about the end of the big tobacco barn, firing as they came, and spurring their mounts desperately in an attempt to head us off. The impossibility of escape in that direction was instantly evident; capture seemed inevitable, yet the sound of those spitting carbines merely served to inspire me with the spirit of resistance. Undoubtedly the end would prove the same, but I meant to fight it out, to do all the damage possible.

"The first cabin, O'Brien! we can make that before they turn."

It was nip and tuck, the surprised troopers wheeling their horses as though on pivots, and digging in the spurs in a mad endeavor to get between us and our haven. O'Brien fell once, tripped, or shot, I know not, but was instantly upon his feet again. I was first over the threshold, stumbling as I made it, and falling forward on the puncheon floor. A rain of bullets crashed into the opposite wall, and, as I struggled to my knees, I caught a glimpse of the circling horsemen without, and of ​O'Brien crouching beside the door, hi, carbine working viciously. It was all instantaneous, and I rolled over, kicked the heavy oaken door shut, and dropped the bar into its socket. There was little doubt as to the end; hut now, at least, we had a breathing spell, a few moments of protection. A quick glance about gave me a plan of defence.

"That's a double door, O'Brien: loosen the upper half, and use your gun through the opening. Keep down so they can't get you. I'll dig a hole between the logs on the other side."

I turned, fishing a knife out of my pocket. It was a single-room cabin, its only window boarded up, so very little light found entrance. A few pieces of rude furniture were jumbled up at the farther end, but I barely noticed these, for, with my first step, I came face to face with a woman, fronting me with gun in hand. She was tall, angular, poorly dressed, her features sharp, her hair a wisp, her eyes burning into mine. The encounter was so sudden and unexpected that I recoiled, dropping my knife, and gripping at the revolver.

"Who be yer—Yanks?" The question seemed to come from between clinched teeth.

"Yes," I acknowledged, realizing the uselessness of denial "Who are you?"

"It don't make no difference who we-uns be. Who's them fellers after yer?"

"Rebs, of course."

"Donald's outfit?"

​"I expect so—either his guerillas, or Dunn's Cavalry."

"Thin ye kin count us in, Yank. Git out, Daniel, an' kiver thet winder."

A boy of thirteen, sallow and thin, with stooped shoulders, but firm-set jaw, crawled out from the bed, and, long rifle in hand, clambered up to where he could peer through between the boards. Quickly he pushed the brown barrel out, sighted along it, and pulled the trigger.

"Thet's one of 'em, ma," he said rather wearily, expectorating tobacco juice on the floor.

"Keep 'em a movin', Daniel. Benjamin, whar be ye?"

"Yere, ma."

"Wal, git out 'long with thet jigger et ther door. Gol dern yer, move!"

She caught him by one ear, a younger edition of the same lanky type, and landed him in the centre of the floor, where he stood rubbing his head with one hand, but clinging to a gun with the other. The woman's disgust burst all control.

"Wake up, you!" and she cuffed him. "Benjamin Daniels, ef I hev ter speak agin thar's goin' ter be trouble."

Rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, the lad shuffled over toward O'Brien. His head barely topped the closed half of the door, across which he shoved his rifle barrel. I began to understand the ​situation, to appreciate these new recruits. Woman and children then had been brought up in the atmosphere of war, and were not to be despised as allies.

"You are Maria Daniels, I imagine?"

"I reckon I am, stranger," one hand on her hip, and chin advanced. "Do yer know Bill?"

"Yes, he belongs to my command, that's his scouting partner yonder."

"Thet red-headed little whiffet?"

I nodded, wondering at the sudden silence without.

"Say, Mister," she burst forth, "whar is Bill? We-uns ain't got no house no more, fer it's burnt down. One o' the Talcott boys said Bill was over this-a-way, an' so we hoofed it yere las' night, but I ain't seen nary thing but Johnnies since, till yer two hellions bust in. If Bill be 'round these yere parts he better be lookin' after me an' ther kids, or thar's a right smart chance o' his losin' us."

"Your husband is in the neighborhood somewhere, Mrs. Daniels," I hastened to say, eager to get busy on the defence of the cabin. "I saw him less than half an hour ago in the house yonder. He left by way of a secret passage. He had heard of your plight, and was seeking you. He even went to Donald to learn the truth."

"Bill did? Ter Jem Donald? Stranger, ye're a blame liar!"

I stepped back, the fierceness of her face startling me

"But, Mrs. Daniels—"

"They're a-coomin', sor!" sang out O'Brien, and ​there was a sharp barking of guns, the cabin filling with powder smoke. What followed was all confusion, only here and there a distinct impression remaining on my memory. I was at the door with one leap, staring out revolver in hand. Men were running toward us on foot, yelling and firing as they came. Amid the smoke clouds I could distinguish their forms, but not their faces, yet directly in front, were a number bunched together, and bearing, slung between them, a huge timber. Their purpose was evident: here was the battering-ram to break down the door; one blow from this would render further defence impossible.

"Those fellows with the log!" I cried. "Drop them! never mind the others."

We poured a volley directly into the bunch, and three fell, the front end of the timber striking the ground. From every side the fire aimed at the cabin converged to the opening where we stood. Bullets crashed into the lower half of the door, and whistled past us to find lodgment in the further wall. O'Brien swore, and went stumbling backward; Daniels's youngest had a livid mark across his forehead and sank to the floor, his face in his hands. Maria grabbed his gun and let drive beside me. I could hear the deep barks of the older lad's rifle through the crack in the window. To attempt resisting the force attacking us was madness; but, back beyond the halted rammers, I caught a glimpse of Dunn, urging the men forward. The sight of the fellow robbed me of all judgment, left me reckless and desperate. He was beyond range of my revolver, but I emptied it into the ​faces of those nearer. For the moment our concentrated fire staggered them, but there were too many out there to be held back long by so small a force. As we exhausted our loads, they sprang confidently forward, a dozen flinging aside their guns to grasp anew the fallen timber. Then, with a yell, they rushed us. Only half ready we fired blindly, scarcely able to see through the smoke. With a crash the end of the timber struck, splintering the boards and tearing the lower half of the door from its fastenings.

The woman was flung backward, her rifle discharging as she fell, and I sprang aside, tripping over the boy, and striking against something which rendered me for the instant helpless. Yet I managed to reach my knees, and fired twice at the dim figures leaping toward me through the smoke: then I went down, grappled by a dozen hands, but struggling desperately until pinned to the floor.

The hubbub ceased, the roar and shouting, the rattle of guns: the smoke blew out of the door in a cloud, and, although my eyes smarted painfully, I could yet perceive my surroundings. The elder Daniels boy was backed into a corner, the black muzzle of a gun at his breast; the younger lay on the floor apparently unconscious; O'Brien was just getting up, his clothes in rags from the fierce struggle, while Maria sat on the bed, gun still in hand, glaring about her, but without a shot left. A fellow struck my arm a numbing blow causing the revolver to drop to the floor. I had seen nothing of Dunn during that fierce rush, but now he stood ​fronting me, sword in hand, and eyes gleaming in triumph.

"Surrender, you dirty Yankee spy," he shouted. "We've got you this time."

In my excitement I laughed at the fellow, despising the cowardice of his words, and scarcely realizing the power he possessed.

"All right, Lieutenant," I returned, holding out my hands, "this happens to be your turn."

"Yes, it is, and I know how to take it. You'll not have another chance to get away. Munn, you and Corbett tie that fellow. He's caught red-handed, and it won't require even a court martial to condemn him."

The two cavalrymen strapped me up, until I lay like a log on the floor, yet the full significance of this did not burst upon me until their work had been accomplished, and I again caught sight of Dunn’s face.

"What does this mean?" I insisted indignantly. "Am I not to be treated as a prisoner of war?"

"You'll be treated for what you are. You've done the work of a spy, and you end as a spy."

"But I am not one, and you know it. I came here as a scout in uniform. I have made no attempt whatever to assume disguise: I am in uniform now."

He laughed sneeringly, turning contemptuously away.

"That might be accepted at headquarters if you ever got there, King, but I mean to see you don't have any opportunity to escape so easily. You've had your turn: now it's mine."

I shut my teeth tightly, not even yet believing him in ​earnest, but feeling the utter uselessness of resistance. If he was the senior officer present, as was quite probable, he, at least, possessed power to carry out his threat, and it would be an act of supreme foolishness to anger him further. That he was by disposition mean, spiteful, and cowardly I had ample reason to know; now he possessed means for revenge without danger to himself.

"Lieutenant Dunn," I called after him, "I might think you in earnest if you were not a soldier, but I cannot believe this of a Confederate officer. As you say, I have had my turn, and now it is yours, but surely, I have acted honorably, and have reason to expect the same honorable treatment from you."

He stood facing me, his lips parted so as to exhibit a row of teeth beneath the black moustache.

"Connors," he said sharply, making no pretence at replying to me, "any prisoners badly hurt?"

The man addressed, a Sergeant, straightened up from where he knelt on the floor.

"Only this boy, sir; I think he's got a fracture of the skull."

"Have them all put into the next cabin, and let Franklin dress their wounds; he knows something about surgery. Keep that fellow here under strong guard, and watch over him yourself. He's a Yankee spy, Connors, and we'll not trouble to take him back to camp."

Without even looking at me, he passed out through the door, and I lay there on my side, watching the Sergeant oversee the removal of the others. Maria and the older boy were apparently unhurt, but O'Brien had to ​be supported by two of the men, while the younger lad was swung in a blanket. After they had disappeared, five troopers remained, lounging in the doorway, with guns in hand, and the Sergeant took time to come over and examine my fastenings. He was a sturdy-looking fellow, with a coarse face, but rather pleasant eyes.

"Your Lieutenant is something of a joker, is n't he?" I questioned, still doubting the earnestness of the threat.

"Not that ever I heard about," he returned gruffly, "I've suspected him of most everything else, but never of that."

"You mean he really intends to hang me?"

"I reckon he does."

"But see here, Sergeant, I am no spy. I am here in uniform, and have fought you face to face. Surely you men will never take part in such a deed?"

He spat into one corner of the cabin, his face expressionless.

"We all are soldiers," he replie' finally, "an' I reckon what the Lieutenant says goes. Far as I'm consarned, stranger, a Yank's a Yank, and I'm willin' ter string 'em all up, if them's the orders. The boys mostly feels like that. If the Lieutenant is in airnest, an' I reckon he is, ye better be gittin' that last will an' testament o' yours fixed up, fer we're due back in camp by night-fall."

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE AVOWAL

THEY set me up where I could lean against the bed, my hands and feet strapped securely, my limbs numb from the tightness of the fastenings. The Sergeant sat opposite me in a chair tilted against the wall, his eyes partially closed, but his jaws busy on the tobacco in his cheek, the guard blocking the doorway. Through the opening I could obtain a glimpse of the field without golden in the sunshine. The full terror of my situation dawned slowly upon me. I was not in the hands of an honorable soldier, but of a cowardly cur seeking revenge. Dunn had reason to hate me—greater reason perhaps than he knew, and sufficient certainly to make him anxious to get me out of the way for all time. Now he had the opportunity, and every instinct of his nature would conspire to that end. He might not be aware of Jean's real love for Donald, but he did know of the form of marriage between us, and had every reason to believe that the intimacy of the past few days had created a friendship dangerous to his ambition. My rough treatment of him would never have led to such reprisal as compassing my death as a spy; there must be another cause, and that cause was Jean Denslow. With me ​removed, he imagined his way would be clear, and was willing even to venture murder— for my death would be no less—to obtain this result. Fighting against it, I yet became more and more convinced that his threat was not an idle one. He had the power and the disposition to carry it out.

And what had I to hope for? Any plea would be useless; any threat on my part laughed at. Donald might return; a Federal scouting party might ride that way, yet neither of these contingencies was probable. Daniels was free, and possibly even knew of my predicament, but could accomplish nothing alone, and I had no knowledge of him since his disappearance into the tunnel. The utter helplessness of my situation was only too evident. If Dunn dared to carry out his threat and was expeditious about it, nothing short of a miracle could save me, and I had no expectation of a miracle. All these thoughts came to me in brief time, for I doubt if the Lieutenant was absent more than twenty minutes. It seemed to me then even less than that, and I was yet sitting there motionless, gazing out of the open door, but seeing nothing, when he stepped in between the guard, and stood still staring at me.

"King," he questioned peremptorily, "is there any truth in what I have just heard, that those murders in the house were committed by a woman?"

"Yes," I said, surprised at the emotion in his voice; "I saw her."

"You saw her! What was she like?"

​"A thin, haggard face, with wild eyes, and straggly gray hair. Did Miss Denslow tell you? She saw her also."

"I have n't seen the lady," his voice grown petulant, "nor been to the house. A negro told me." He stopped, gaining control of himself with an effort. "But I'll see to that later. Do you know what I'm going to do with you?"

"I know what you threaten."

"And what I threaten I carry out: I am going to hang you to that tree yonder as a Yankee spy."

I hated and despised the fellow so thoroughly that I never moved a muscle, except to smile in his face.

"That will be a brave deed. Lieutenant Dunn, but one you are no doubt capable of."

"You question my courage? You think I will not dare?"

"My thought of you is of no interest," I returned, for the instant losing temper in face of the man's conceit. "You possess power, and it requires no courage to command your men to hang me on a false charge. But there is one thing you did not dare do—confess your purpose to Jean Denslow."

"This has nothing to do with her. Oh, I know the trick you played on the girl, and believe she will rejoice to be thus easily rid of you. You may not be a spy, but you have done a spy's work and are going to meet a spy's fate. Have you any message to leave?"

"None; and if I had, I would not trust you with it."

His white teeth gleamed beneath his moustache.

​"Perhaps I might fail as a messenger," he admitted, assured of his position, "and as we are in a hurry to return to camp this pleasant duty can be attended to at once. I don't think I ever hated anybody worse than I do you, King, and the Lord has been good to me for once. Connors!"

The Sergeant who had been watching us through half closed eyes, rose to his feet, and saluted.

"Here, sir."

"You enlisted from this section, I understand. This Yank here has been riding the country with Bill Daniels, and up to all kinds of deviltry. There's no use taking that kind prisoner, and I reckon you know your business."

The Sergeant grinned, looking me over coolly. Dunn evidently knew his man, for he snapped out his orders sharply.

"Unstrap his legs and get him on his feet. Take the fellow's jacket off; the collar is too high. Here Munn, you and Franklin hold him by the arms. That's right, men; outside with him. We'll give the lad another look at the sunshine."

They were grimly in earnest, holding me roughly, and forcing me forward through the door. I saw the back of the house a hundred yards away, most of the troop of cavalrymen lounging beside the well. The majority remained where they were, staring curiously at us, but a half-dozen got upon their feet, and strolled in our direction. Scarcely knowing what I did, yet obeying the pressure on either side, I advanced until jerked to a halt. ​Before me dangled a rope with a noose at the end. I heard a bird singing on the branch above, yet I saw nothing but a maze of faces, and that dangling noose, which was intended to choke out my life. For the Instant I reeled giddily, held erect only by the grip on either arm, a strange red mist before my eyes. This then was the end—the end of all ambition, of all life, of all love I seemed unable to grasp the thought, and yet earth and sky were but misty unrealities, the sharp voice of Dunn indistinct. Some one struck me, and the blow broke the spell. I looked into Connors's face: then beyond him into the eyes of Dunn.

"You infernal curl!" I said coldly, "if you think this wins you the woman, you'll learn your mistake."

An oath broke from his lips, but the stockily built Sergeant stood between us. Then a hand reached over my shoulder, grasped the rope, and I felt the noose settle about my neck and tighten. The touch of the hemp sent a chill to the heart, but I stood firm, my eyes still on Dunn's. The fellow should read no fear in my face; nor would I ask mercy of him.

I know not from whence she came, or how. In that first second I thought it a dream, a vision, but there was no doubting the voice or the words.

"What are you doing? What does this mean?"

Apparently as startled at her unexpected appearance as I, the Lieutenant failed to answer. Besides, she ignored him, looking directly at the Sergeant, and the latter stammered an explanation.

​"We were goin' to hang a spy, ma'am."

"A spy! This man is no spy. Lieutenant Dunn, answer me; you are in command here—is this jest or earnest?"

Thus forced by her insistence, the fellow assumed a swagger of authority.

"This is a military matter," he began roughly, "and no affair of yours whatever, Jean. I will not brook your interference. This man has penetrated our lines. He has taken information derived as a spy to Federal headquarters. In ordering his execution I am doing no more than any other officer would."

She looked directly into his face, her clear eyes reading the truth behind his words. Suddenly she turned, grasped the rope, and lifted the noose over my head.

"That is my answer," she said quietly. "You shall not hang this man: he is not a spy: he is not here as a spy—he is my husband."

Whatever veneer of gentleness Calvert Dunn might assume on occasion was gone now. With reddened face, and blazing eyes, he sprang forward, grasped her arm, and flung her aside, so fiercely that she fell upon one knee.

"Your husband!" he shouted, fairly beside himself with rage, "yes, by a trick; a dirty, contemptible, Yankee trick. Now I'll play another, and divorce you."

I saw only the girl's face, as she staggered to her feet. It was white, the lips firm set, the eyes burning.

"I have not said I desired a divorce."

​"Well, I do, and I'm going to hang this man. You can stay and see the job done, or you can leave, just as you please. Connors, replace that rope!"

I saw a quick movement of the girl's hand, an outstretched arm, the glitter of a steel barrel.

"Lieutenant Dunn," she said, her voice without a tremor, "I am a woman, but you are going to listen to me. If you move, or one of your men puts hand on the prisoner, I shall fire. You know whether or not I can shoot. This man is not a spy, and no military court would ever condemn him. You are seeking personal revenge, because he took your place and married me. It was a trick: I have never held it a legal ceremony, but now you force me to do so. I acknowledge this man as my husband; I acknowledge myself as his wife; and I dare you to lay violent hands upon him."

"You think that revolver will prevent," he sneered. "With one word my men would overpower you."

"Not before I could pull this trigger. But there is still another reason—Colonel Donald is now riding in through the gate. Within two more minutes he will be here. He knows Lieutenant King." Her hand dropped to her side, and her lips smiled. "Now, if you wish to, show your authority."

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE DISCOVERY OF DANIELS

ALL Dunn's pretended bravado seemed to desert him at these words, and I saw Corbett grin, as he watched the indecision in his officer's face.

"Shall we string the Yank up, sir?" he asked, endeavoring to speak with outward respect.

The other did not answer. He was listening to the hoof-beats of horses advancing around the north side of the house. Suddenly Donald trotted into the midst of the group, two men behind him, and drew rein sharply. His eyes swept over the faces, and the shadow rose].

"What is the meaning of this?" he questioned. "Jean, what are you doing here? Dunn, I should like some explanation of this."

"I am not under your orders," growled the Lieutenant, in a last effort at independence. "I belong to the regular service."

Donald leaned forward and looked at the man contemptuously.

"Which you continually manage to disgrace," he said coldly. "But we'll not discuss either rank or authority. Lieutenant King, what did these fellows propose to do with you?"

"Hang me as a spy," I answered, with a shiver. "It ​would have been over with me by now, but for the heroism of Miss Denslow."

I saw the man's lips close firmly, as he glanced from her face to mine, and then at the perturbed countenance of Dunn. Was he jealous also? Would Jean's interference on my behalf make him indifferent to my safety? His decision was too prompt to give me much opportunity for speculation.

"Lieutenant Dunn," he said tersely, "it's perfectly true that I have no authority over you in the service, but I think you know what it means to oppose me now. Irregular though I am, a word from me to General Johnston relative to this matter will bring you face to face with a court martial. This prisoner is not a spy, and has never acted in that capacity. You were thoroughly aware of that fact."

"Then I hold him as prisoner of war. Take charge of him, Connors."

"Wait!" the single word rang out like a shot, and the Sergeant stopped instantly, unable to decide whom he had better obey. "He is not your prisoner, Dunn, but mine. If a man of you lays hands on him again, you shall answer for it to me."

"Your prisoner! My God, how? We captured him in fight. That fellow cost us six men."

Donald flung one booted leg over the pommel of his saddle, and calmly rested a revolver along it, his gaze on the excited faces.

"I am very sorry for that, Lieutenant," he admitted quietly, "but you should have let him alone. Most men ​fight when driven to it. King was my prisoner, and on parole, when you attacked him. I have special authority to parole prisoners whom I cannot send into headquarters. Lieutenant King is my prisoner, and I propose to hold him, by power of this,"—he touched the deadly black barrel resting in his right hand, and smiled. No one spoke; the men stood shuffling uneasily and waiting for their officer to take the initiative. Donald glanced at Jean, perfectly cool, and alert to every movement about him.

"Fennel, dismount and untie Lieutenant King's hands."

The man accomplished this with apparent utter indifference to the scowling faces and growls of the men crowding about him, and I stretched out my arms, aching painfully from the tight cords. Donald realized the danger of the moment, the disinclination of the regulars to yield to his dictation; but they were without leadership, and he held the whip hand, confident that Dunn would never venture open fight.

"That's all," swinging back into the saddle, but with his revolver still in hand. "Fennel, you and Watts ride with the prisoner between you. Jean, you had better return to the house. Lieutenant Dunn, I came back here especially to have word with you upon another matter. I shall expect you in the library in ten minutes."

He held his horse so as to block any attempt at rescue, waiting motionless until we were quite clear of the crowd, then following at a slow walk well to our rear. There was an outburst of profanity, a shaking of ​carbines, a jostling of bodies, but no one led, and the guerilla rode away, smiling as he looked backward.

At the front door he dismounted, and, leaving his two men on guard at the steps, motioned me to follow him within, Jean having disappeared in advance.

"I expect no more trouble from those fellows, King," he said pausing in the hall to face me. "They naturally dislike me, and it rather goes against the grain to take orders from me; but they haven't any confidence in their own officer, and are not certain they have any right to hang you. Dunn will come here to see me first, and I have that to tell him which will give him something new to think about."

"I am most grateful for what you have done," I interposed as he paused, "but I should like to know what you propose doing with me, and the others."

"What others?"

"Those taken with me in the fight yonder—one of my scouts, O'Brien, Mrs. Daniels, and two boys, the younger severely wounded."

"Maria Daniels! She is here then! I will have them seen to at once. As to you. King, I shall keep to my word, and send you back to the Federal lines. But you have been mixed up in this strange affair here, and I want you to see the end of it. We are, I believe, on the verge of clearing up the mystery. Go into the library and wait. I want a moment's conversation with Jean, and will then join you."

The shades were drawn, and the library full of shadows. I sat down facing the table where Judge Dunn ​died, and in the silence, my mind insensibly began to review those swiftly recurring events of the past few days. It seemed to me I had lived years since first coming to this house—years full of violence, death, danger, and excitement. And how greatly was I indebted to Donald, and to Jean! He had gone to her—eager to be with her even for a moment. I wondered if she would confess to him now the story of our relationship. If she did, if she told him all, how would he greet me upon his return? It must have cost her much to make that open avowal before Dunn and his men: she was driven to it by hope of saving my life. But it would be harder yet to confess the truth to Donald.

I had gone no further in my thought, when he came in, crossing the room, and lifting the shades before speaking. There was nothing in his face to give me uneasiness, and he looked me in the eyes smilingly, sitting down with his back to the window.

"I am picking up the ends of a rather tangled skein, King," he said easily, "but little by little it is straightening out. After I talk with Dunn I hope to know what to do. The fellow ought to be here by this time."

We waited for, perhaps, five minutes in silence, Donald seemingly buried in thought, and I afraid to ask those questions which agitated my brain. He was not a man to exhibit emotion, and I could judge nothing as to how he felt or thought from his words or outward actions. What did he know, suspect, plan? How would the knowledge of my midnight marriage to Jean affect him? What did this coming interview with Dunn ​portend? We heard the approaching steps of the latter in the hall, and both glanced up quickly. The Lieutenant came in with a distinct swagger, his sword clattering against the door, as he stiffly came to attention. Donald smiled, gazing at him quietly.

"Kindly take that chair, Lieutenant," he said, "and I will detain you for only a moment."

There was a slight pause of hesitation, Dunn sitting on the edge of the chair, ill at ease, his eyes shifting from face to face. He made no objection to my presence, evidently supposing this interview had to do with my capture. Donald broke the silence with a question.

"Is it true, as I have always been led to believe, that your mother died twelve years ago?"

The man's face changed instantly, his hands gripping the arms of the chair.

"My mother! Why—why do you ask that?"

"Because Lucille said something yesterday which aroused my suspicion. I have just returned from Bartonville; the records of the asylum show she was taken away from there, uncured, by your father. Is this true?"

"Yes," the voice scarcely audible.

"Did she die later?"

"No."

"Where has she been kept concealed all these years?"

Dunn wet his lips, his hands trembled.

"In the west attic," he admitted at last. "It—it was fitted up, and she has been confined there ever since. It has been our family secret."

​However much Donald may have sympathized, his face expressed nothing, and he went coldly on with his questioning.

"Your mother is not now in the west attic; the men who have met their death in this house have been attacked by a woman. Did you know this?"

Dunn rose to his feet trembling.

"Not until a short time ago, Colonel Donald. I have not seen Lucille for several days. A negro told me that the assassin was a woman, and I questioned Lieutenant King as to the truth. From his description I feared it might prove to be my mother. What—what can I do?"

"Go with us in search," and Donald stood erect. "No one in this house is safe until we have her under lock and key again."

Dunn hesitated, glancing questioningly toward me.

"Is it necessary to have this man with us?" he asked.

"I see no reason why he should not be. He already knows the circumstances, and besides is a gentleman to be trusted. It may require the three of us to handle her safely, and I greatly prefer King to any of the men outside."

He crossed the room to the hall, as if the affair were settled, and we followed without exchanging a word or a glance. Much as I despised Dunn, I could not now but feel a certain sympathy for him. Donald led the way up the stairs, and back toward the fireplace. He glanced into the side room, but returned immediately, shaking his head to my look of inquiry.

​"We'll try the tunnel, King," he said swiftly. "Lift the andiron. Who do you suppose closed the trap?"

"Jean, probably, for fear some one might notice."

The secret door swung as easily as ever on its pivot, revealing the interior.

"The man never took the lantern," I exclaimed in surprise, straightening up and pointing at the shelf. Our eyes met in understanding; in our minds was the same thought: perhaps just below we were to discover another tragedy.

Donald descended first, after lighting the lantern and throwing the illumination well down the shaft; I followed, with Dunn loitering in the rear. We grouped together at the foot of the ladder, all alike dreading the possibilities of the dark passage. Donald advanced a step or two, holding the lantern high, so as to throw the rays of light forward. There we saw revealed an outstretched hand. We were used to death, death by violence, but this discovery in that place, our nerves already strained to the utmost, came like a shock. It was a ghastly sight, that one white hand showing there in the ray of light. Dunn gave utterance to a single cry of horror, but Donald and I pressed forward silently, determined to know the truth. A dozen steps and we stood beside the body, able at a glance to comprehend the whole story. Daniels, in his old campaign jacket, his hat beside him, his seamed, rugged face upturned, lay dead at our feet, a knife wound in his throat. Just beyond, with head slightly uplifted on a protuberance of rock lay a woman, her slender figure draped in a faded ​red wrapper, her gray, straggling locks half concealing her face. Between them was the knife, a thin-bladed, deadly poniard.

The stupefaction of horror gripped us, as we stood staring down at the sight. For a moment no one of us grasped the full meaning of this closing tragedy. Then Donald knelt and touched the bodies.

"Both dead," he said soberly, and looted up at us. "No doubt Daniels died first, from the knife wound, but he must have reached her in the struggle, hurling her down with him. As she fell, her head struck the rack and the knife dropped from her hand."

Tenderly he pressed back the gray hair, revealing the woman's face. Death had softened its expression, giving a younger look; yet even now it retained the appearance of suffering. A throb of pity came to me at I looked.

"I remember her now," Donald said gravely "but how the years have changed her! Calvert, she was your mother."

For answer, Dunn dropped upon his knees, and bowed his head over the motionless body.

CHAPTER XXXV

THE CONFESSION

WE bore the bodies out by the way of the cabin entrance, taking them both into the main house. Dunn remained with his mother, thoroughly broken down by this revelation, and Lucille joined him. Donald himself, forgetful of the feud, went to Maria with the news of her husband's death, and brought her and the eldest boy back with him to sit beside the body. There remained nothing for me to do, and, depressed and lonely, I returned to the deserted library, and waited.

I was still a prisoner, and although I might easily have escaped, a sense of honor held me more securely than bonds. I wondered what Donald intended to do with me. Without doubt he understood by now my connection with Jean, and he might not feel so lenient toward me. Where was Jean? Could she be avoiding me, ashamed of her avowal, and fearful lest I should have taken her hasty words seriously? This would not seem true to her nature, and surely she could not so misconstrue my character. Yet Donald might have convinced the girl it was better we should never meet again. The whole game came to me in a flash. Donald had reason to fear Dunn, and not me. My marriage to Jean ​Denslow was a service which he was willing to repay. Previous to my appearance the love between these two was hopeless, the girl's father favoring Dunn's suit, and forcing her to immediate marriage. I had blocked that by pure accident. Delay was inevitable, for the form of a divorce would have to be gone through with before Dunn could again claim her. All this was to the advantage of Donald. His only immediate desire would be to get rid of me, leaving him in possession of the field. It was not pleasant to think about; to realize that the girl was being played with in this manner; and that I was utterly helpless. If she cared for me the situation would be different, but my love was of no service while her heart belonged to another. Played with? Beyond question she was part of the play, acting her role at Donald's dictation, as anxious as he was, that I should disappear from the stage.

I had reached this gloomy conclusion when the man himself came in, closing the door behind him, and crossing the room to stand with his back toward me, looking out of the window. Finally he turned and looked me, his own face in the shadow.

"King." he said gravely, "as a Confederate officer it is no doubt my duty to hold you as a prisoner of war. I suppose that when Dunn recovers from his present shock, and his old nature returns, he will make some sort of report of this matter and endeavor to get me into trouble. The fellow dislikes you cordially, and from all I hear, with good reason. However, what he thinks does n't affect me. and I am going to give you a horse and ​safe passage into your own lines—you and your wild Irishman."

"I thank you very much, Colonel Donald," rising to my feet, and speaking rather stiffly.

"Not at all, Lieutenant. I believe I owe you my life, but that counts even less with me than Jean's desire. I have promised your release to her."

I could say nothing, and he went on gravely.

"I have just been given the details of what occurred at Denslow's plantation, and your connection with the affair. It makes a very peculiar story. I had heard it hinted at before, but had no reason to suppose you the man. May I ask, do you propose taking advantage of this situation in any way? My own relations with Jean give me the right to ask this."

"I am aware of that, Colonel Donald, and will answer frankly. I mean to make every amend in my power. I respect and admire Miss Denslow sincerely, and will never stand in the way of her happiness. I pledge you my word to this, and ask your confidence."

"You certainly have that, King," he said heartily. "I feel that I can trust you both. This is an occasion when the Blue and the Gray can clasp hands," and he held out his own. "Your horses are at the steps, and the more promptly you get away the better. It may be we shall never meet again, but I wish your remembrance of me to be a kindly one."

"It could not be otherwise."

We passed out into the hall together, and the light rested on his handsome, genial face. It was indeed easy ​to understand how she had learned to love him. I endeavored to speak, but the words seemed to choke me—I was about to leave behind all my inspiration and hope. At the foot of the stairs he stopped, his hand pressing my arm.

"Jean wishes to speak with you before you go," he said calmly. "She is in the parlor."

Then he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there alone facing the closed door. The blood surged to my face: I could feel the trembling of my fingers as they grasped the knob. I had not expected, not even hoped for this. She was standing waiting me, in the centre of a room full of sunshine—a slender, white-robed figure, with smiling lips and smiling eyes. I stopped irresolute, still grasping the door, wondering what it was I should say to her. Yet she gave me short time for thought.

"I asked Colonel Donald to have you come to me before your departure," she said firmly, "so there might be no misunderstanding between us."

"You refer to the words spoken yonder, Miss Denslow?" and it seemed to me an icy hand gripped my heart. "There was no misunderstanding, I assure you. I realize that what you said was merely to save life; spoken on the spur of the moment."

Her eyes fell, the blood flooding her cheeks.

"It was not that I meant, Lieutenant King, it was something very different. I have not really deceived you, but—but I have permitted you to deceive yourself. I thought I could let you go away without any ​explanation, but I—find I cannot, and Colonel Donald thinks I had better confess the truth."

"I hope you also think so."

"Yes, I—I believe I do, only I hardly know how to begin, how to make it all clear. When you told me once that you cared for me, I said that I loved Colonel Donald. You remember that?"

"Yes," eagerly, "was it not true?"

"It was true, but—but not in the way you thought. Listen to me: I wish to tell you a little—just a little—about my own life; then you will understand."

She paused with eyes cast down, her bosom heaving.

"My birth took place fifteen miles east of here on Clear Creek in the mountains. Long before then my family had become involved in a feud which has cost many lives. My father was not of a nature to keep this up, but was compelled to defend himself, and for some years the other side was in the ascendant, and used their power remorselessly. When I was but a child our home was burned to the ground, and my mother, with me in her arms, driven to the mountains. My father was away at the time, and the exposure of the night cost my mother's life."

I could see the tears in her eyes at the memory, yet she continued speaking.

"It seemed as if this loss of his wife temporarily crazed my father. It seemed to change his entire disposition, and he lived only for revenge, and to drive the other faction from this region. For the time he appeared to lose all interest in me, and passed his days and ​nights in the mountains with the few he could gather to his cause. I was taken to the home of an aunt, my mother's sister. I must have been a lovable child, for I won her affection, and that of her husband. They insisted upon adopting me as their own; and my real father had no home, no ambition other than revenge, he consented, and I became legally Jean Denslow. No girl could have had a happier life than mine, or greater kindness and care. But it is true, I love Colonel Donald, for he is my father."

It seemed to me I could not speak, the words rushing to my lips choked me. What could all this mean, this confession, this acknowledgment? In confusion, in eagerness, I succeeded in blurting out,

"But Dunn? You were engaged to Dunn?"

"Yes," her eyes uplifting to mine. "It was the wish of my foster father, and then I knew no better."

"But now? Since then you have learned your mistake? You do not love him?"

"You forget, I am a married woman."

I sprang forward, clasping her hands, a sudden confidence mastering me.

"Jean, tell me the truth—all the truth! What is it your heart says?"

Shall I ever forget what I read in the depths of those blue-gray eyes, or those words in which she answered me?

"I love my husband."

THE END

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