All of these things were apparent from the vantage ground of the upper story window, but Josephine, unwilling to play at spying, saw none of it.  At last, however, an exclamation from Jeanne caused her to hasten to the window. “Mon Dieu, Madame!  Madame, look—­it is that officer—­it is Monsieur le Capitaine Carlisle!  Look! why then—­”

[Illustration:  An exclamation from Jeanne caused her to hasten.]

With no more than a glance, her mistress turned, flung open the door of the room, hurried down the stair, passed out of the hall and so fronted these newcomers at the gallery.  They stood silent as they saw her.  She herself was first to speak.

“What are you doing with that woman?” she demanded.

They all stood in silence, looking at her, at this apparition of a woman—­a young and beautiful woman—­here at Tallwoods, where none had known of any woman these many years.  Clayton himself made no comment.  The Honorable William Jones smiled broadly.  Dunwody removed his hat.  “Gentlemen,” said he, “this is the Countess St. Auban, who has come to see these parts of our country.  Madam,” he added, “this is Judge Clayton.  He was on the Mount Vernon with us.  Lieutenant Kammerer, I think, is the name of this gentleman who came down here to teach us a few things.  There has been some fighting.  Mr. Yates—­Mr. Jones.  And this gentleman”—­he stepped back so that Carlisle might come into view—­“I think you already know.”

“I knowed it!  I knowed it!” broke in the Honorable William Jones.  “I seen all along there was a woman in this house.  I said—­”

Josephine turned to him a swift glance.  “There is a lady in this house.”

“Yes,” broke out Carlisle, “and all of you remember it.  Don’t I know!  Madam, what are you doing here?”

“Kind words from my former jailer?  So!” She rewarded him none too much for his quick sympathy.  Then, relenting; “But at least you were better than this new jailer.  Are you, too, a prisoner?  I can’t understand all this.”

“But you’re hurt.  Madam,” began Carlisle.  “How is that?  Have you also been attacked by these ruffians?  I did not dream Dunwody was actually so much a ruffian.”

“Madam,” said Dunwody slowly turning to her, “I can’t exchange words now.  There has been an encounter, as I said.  There have been men killed, and some of us have been hurt.  The northern abolitionists have made their first attack on southern soil.  This gentleman is an army officer.  I’m a United States marshal, and as a prisoner he’s safe in talking.  He has come here on his own moral initiative, in the interest of what you call freedom.  You two should be friends once more.  But would you mind helping me make these people comfortable as we can?”

“You are hurt, yourself, then!” she said, turning toward him, seeing him wince as he started up the step.

“No;” he said curtly, “it’s nothing.”