“Did—­did Major Hardy truly second you?” she interrupted, apparently dazed.  “I—­I can hardly comprehend.”

“He did; he even volunteered to do so.  Le Gaire charged you with being unduly intimate with me, and your father resented his words.  The man began threatening as soon as I entered the room, and finally struck me across the face, daring me to an encounter.  I am no duellist; this was my first appearance in that role; but I could never have retained my self-respect and refused to meet him.”

“You—­you forced him to accept pistols?”

“In a way, yes.  Your father convinced him I was an expert swordsman, and consequently he chose derringers, believing they would be to his advantage.  The truth is, I am not particularly skilled in the use of either.”

She looked at me a moment as though she would read clear down into the depths of my soul; then she leaned over against the head of the couch, her face hidden in her arm.

“I—­I will listen,” she said falteringly, “to all you have to say.”

CHAPTER XXIX

THE MYSTERY DEEPENS

It was a task I distinctly shrank from, but could not escape.

“Shall I not call in your father, and ask him to relate the story?”

“No; I would much rather hear it from you—­tell me everything.”

My heart throbbed at these simple words, and the thought suddenly occurred that possibly it was her loss of faith in me, rather than the death of Le Gaire which had brought such pain.  If she had actually believed all the man had told her, it must have proven a shock, yet how could I now best counteract his story?  It was not my nature to speak ill of any one, least of all the dead, but I must justify myself, win back her respect.  Only the whole truth could accomplish this.  There was a hassock nearby and I dropped down upon it.  She did not move, nor turn her face toward me.

I began with my orders to report at General Grant’s headquarters, so as to thus make clear to her the reasons bringing me to the Hardy plantation.  I told about our night trip up the ravine, explained my ignorance of who occupied the house to which I had been, despatched, and how circumstances compelled me to remain concealed on the balcony, and thus overhear her conversation with her father and Captain Le Gaire.  I even referred to our quadroon guide, and then it was she suddenly turned her face toward me.

“A quadroon—­and claiming to have once lived here?  Who could that be?”

“A servant slave of Le Gaire’s.”

“Oh, yes!  Charles.  I remember now—­he ran away.”

Somehow she seemed more like the Billie of old now, and I went on with greater confidence, barely touching on my sudden determination to prevent her wedding, the capture of the house, and our subsequent conversation together.  As I approached the unpleasant interview in the parlor she sat up, brushing back her hair, and with questioning eyes on mine, exhibited the deepest interest.  I told the rest, word by word, act by act, determined to thus impress upon her the full truth of the narrative.  I could tell by her aroused interest that I was succeeding, while her questions gave me some inkling as to what she had been previously led to believe.  After my account of the duel and Le Gaire’s escape I stopped to ask,