“But surely you will not drive me away unheard!—­not refuse to learn the truth.”

“The truth!  It is the truth I already know, the truth which hurts.”

“Nevertheless you are going to hear my story.  If I have done a wrong to you, or any one, I want it pointed out, so it may be made right.  I shall not leave this room, nor your presence, until I have uttered my last word of explanation.  I should be a coward to turn away.  Will you sit down and listen?  You need not even speak until I am done.”

She looked at me helplessly, her eyes full of questioning, yet, when I extended a hand, she drew back quickly.

“Yes—­I—­I suppose I must.”

She sank back upon the couch, these words barely audible, and I drew a deep breath, hardly knowing where to begin.

“I am a Federal officer, Miss Hardy, and my uniform is no passport to your favor, yet that is no reason you should be unjust.  I do not think I have ever been guilty of but one ungentlemanly act toward you, and that was unavoidable—­I mean listening to your conversation with Captain Le Gaire.”

She shuddered, and gave utterance to a little cry.

“I loved you; with all my heart I loved you,” I went on swiftly, driven by a sudden rush of passion.  “What you said then gave me a right to tell you so.”

“And was it because I was unwilling to listen that—­that you did what you did later?” she broke in hastily.

“Did later!  You mean that I consented to meet Le Gaire?”

“Yes—­that you compelled him to fight you; that you—­Oh, God!  Why bring this all up again?”

“Merely because nothing occurred of which I am ashamed.  Without doubt it was my love for you which caused the trouble.  But I was not the aggressor.  Did you suppose otherwise?  Le Gaire deliberately struck me across the face.”

She rose again to her feet, her cheeks blazing.

“It was the answer of a gentleman to an insult given the woman he was to marry,” proudly.

“The answer to an insult!  What insult?”

“You know; I shall not demean myself to repeat the words.”

So this was what she had been told!  Well, I could block that lie with a sentence.

“Miss Hardy,” I asked soberly, “are you aware that your father refused to act for Captain Le Gaire, but went to the field as my second?”

“No,” her whole expression indicative of surprise.  “Impossible!”

“But it was not impossible, for it was true.  Captain Bell had to be send for to second Le Gaire, and he did it under protest.  Do you imagine your father would have taken my part if I had uttered one word reflecting upon you?”

She attempted to speak, but failed, and I took advantage of the silence.

“Major Hardy is in the hall, and will corroborate all I say.  Perhaps I ought not to attempt my own defence, but this misunderstanding is too grave to continue.  There is too much at stake in your life and mine.  From what you have already said it is evident you have been deceived—­probably that deception did not end merely with the commencement of the quarrel.”