me."

"But I cannot--I must not."

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

"I?" in half indignant surprise.

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

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

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

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

"Leaving your prisoners?"

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

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

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

"No, I do not forget, but that was nothing--nothing to do with you. It
was merely the result of a mood, a whim, a lovers' quarrel. No, don't
speak, don't stop me. I am not going to lie. It was not a mood, nor a
w