“Miss Billie, do you believe all this?”

“Oh, I must!  You surely would not dare say what you have, unless certain my father would sustain you.”

“But is it hard to believe?”

“Yes and no.  I—­I wish to believe, because—­well, because it is so disagreeable to lose confidence in any one who has been esteemed as a friend.  Perhaps I am too loyal, too easily convinced.  But—­but I was told such a different story, and it seemed so real, and every fact with which I was acquainted appeared to confirm it.  If all you tell me now is true, Lieutenant Galesworth, I hardly know how I dare look you in the face.”

“Forget that, and let us understand fully.  Will you tell me all,—­how you came to protect Le Gaire, and what it was he told you?”

She was silent, her eyes shaded, and I waited, wondering if she meant to speak.

“Perhaps if you consent to do this,” I urged, “it may help to clear up the mystery of his death.”

“You have not told me about that.”

“I know little beyond the discovery of the body,” gravely, “and should prefer to understand all that passed between you before going on with my own tale.  I have taken you already as far as I have witnesses to corroborate me—­beyond that you will have to trust my word alone.”

Her long lashes uplifted, the blue-gray eyes looking directly into my own.

“What is all that firing?” she questioned.  “The house fairly quakes; is it a battle?”

“Yes; the contending forces have been gradually drawing nearer ever since daylight.  The Confederate lines are being forced back, and when Chambers arrives in support this point may prove the centre of struggle.  I am eager to get away, Miss Billie, to protect the lives of my men, but I could not leave with you feeling as you did—­believing me a coward, a murderer.”

“But I am ashamed to tell you—­ashamed to confess I could ever have thought it true.”

I touched her hand with my fingers, and she did not shrink away, or seem to observe the action.

“I am bound to learn sometime—­wouldn’t you rather tell me yourself?”

“Yes, for, perhaps, I can make it seem less bad, more natural.  I was angry when you left me, locked here in this room.  I was indignant at what you had said and done, and did not realize the military necessity for making me a prisoner.  I resented your taking everything so for granted, and—­and I believe I almost hated you.  I know I lay down here on the couch and cried myself to sleep.  I could not have slept long, and when I awoke my mind still retained its bitterness.  I began to wonder what I should do; how I could turn the tables against you.  I was not really locked in, because this side door into the next room had been left unfastened.  Finally I decided on a desperate venture.  There were horses in the stable belonging to the captured cavalrymen, and if I could steal out of the house, and reach the Confederate lines, a rescuing party could be guided back here.  The idea more and more took possession of me, and at last I mustered sufficient courage to make the attempt.  I slipped on an old riding skirt, and stole out quietly through that other room into the hall.  I thought I could get down the back stairs unobserved, and then out through the kitchen.  I had no idea you had placed a guard back there in the ell until I saw him.”