“You!” she exclaimed incredulously.  “Why have you come here?  I supposed it would be my father.”

“Major Hardy told me how you were feeling; that he could do nothing for you—­”

“Did he understand I wished to confer with you?”

“No, but—­”

“You decided to invade my room without permission.  Do you not think you have persecuted me quite long enough?”

“Why do you say persecuted?”

“Because your acts have assumed that form, Lieutenant Galesworth.  You persist in seeking me after I have requested to be left alone.”

“Miss Hardy,” and my eyes met hers, “has it ever occurred to you that you may be the one in the wrong, the one mistaken?  I am simply here to explain, to tell you the truth, and compel you to do justice.”

“Indeed! how compel?  With the revolver in your belt?”

“No; merely by a statement of facts, to be proven, if necessary, by the evidence of your father and Captain Bell.  I am not asking you to believe me, but surely they have no occasion for falsifying.  Why have you not listened to them?”

“Listened!” startled by my words.  “I would have listened, but they have said nothing.  They have seemed to avoid all reference to what has occurred.  I thought they were trying to spare me pain, humiliation.  Is there something concealed, something I do not know?”

“If I may judge from your words and action the entire truth has been kept from you,” and I advanced a step or two nearer.  “I am not the one to come with an explanation, but your father has failed, and I am not willing to go away until this matter is made clear.  Whether you believe, or not, you must listen.”

She stared at me, still trembling from head to foot, and yet there was a different expression in her eyes—­puzzled doubt.

“You—­you will have much to explain,” she said slowly.  “If—­if I were you I should hardly attempt it.”

“Which must mean, Miss Hardy, that you are already so prejudiced a fair hearing is impossible.  Yet I thought you, at least, a friend.”

A deep flush swept into her cheeks, to vanish as quickly.

“You had reason to think so, and I was,” earnestly.  “I was deceived in your character, and trusted you implicitly.  It seems as though I am destined to be the constant victim of deceit.  I can keep faith in no one.  It is hard to understand you, Lieutenant Galesworth.  How do you dare to come here and face me, after all that has occurred?”

She was so serious, so absolutely truthful, that for the moment I could only stare at her.

“You mean after what you said to me last night?  But I am not here to speak of love.”

“No,” bitterly.  “That is all over with, forgotten.  In the light of what has happened since, the very memory is an insult.  Oh, you hurt me so!  Cannot you see how this interview pains me!  Won’t you go—­go now, and leave me in peace.”