“It seems so unreal now,” she faltered, her whole form trembling, “that I hardly know how to tell it—­yet every word is true.  I—­I have captured the murderer of Captain Le Gaire.”

“You have!  Who was he?”

“I cannot tell; I—­I haven’t even seen the man’s face, but—­but he is one of your soldiers.”

“Impossible!  There is not one of our men unaccounted for.  I could call every trooper of our first company here now to confront you, except two who have been killed.  The fellow does not belong to us.”

“Well, he wears your uniform,” and she drew back indignantly, “even to having the buttons removed.  You must believe me, for I can prove it; I can take you to where he is.”

“Where?”

“Down cellar, in the place where you had the Confederate prisoners confined.  He—­he is locked in there; I held the door against him, and dropped the bar.”

I looked at her in speechless wonder, a wonder not untinged by admiration and love.  She was standing now, erect, facing me, her cheeks reddening under my direct gaze.

“I am going to make you believe,” she insisted.  “I will tell you how it happened, and then you shall take some men with you, and go down there, and bring the man up.  No, I want to tell you about it first—–­ please, please listen.”

“Would you mind if I call Miles, and then you can tell your story to both of us?” I asked.  “The fellow is armed, is he not; and I shall need to take some one along with me?”

“Yes, the man has a revolver.  You mean the sergeant?  I do not mind telling him.”

I hurried back to the front of the house, more anxious to be assured as to what was going on outside than to discover Miles.  Yet there was nothing alarming, even the cavalry regiment having been withdrawn across the pike.  Without a question the sergeant followed me back to where the girl waited.

CHAPTER XXXIV

HER STORY

She remained exactly as I had left her, leaning against the wall in the slight recess left by the stairs, and she recognized the sergeant with an inclination of the head, although her eyes were upon me.

“Your friends outside seem inclined to allow us a few moments in which to investigate this matter,” I said.  “But we shall need to hurry.  This is Miles, and I want you to tell the entire story from the beginning.”

My tone was incisive, and she responded as though to an order.

“I will be brief,” she began.  “My father and I were at the head of the stairs when your reinforcements came.  We were merely waiting there to make sure you had left the house.  Yet we could not fail to overhear what was said, and to at once realize the importance of the information.  I spoke of it to Major Hardy, but he felt himself still under parole, bound by his word of honor.  I was under no such obligation, however, and, for the moment