“Sweetheart, sweetheart,” I whispered, “you have kept me in doubt so long.”

“It has only been because I also doubted,” she answered,—­“not my love, but my right to love.  To a Hardy honor is everything, and I was bound by honor.  Dear, could you ever think a uniform made any difference?—­it is the man I love.”  She drew gently back, holding me from her, and yet our eyes met.  “But we must not remain here, thinking only of ourselves, when there is so much to be done.  Remember what is down there, and what scenes of horror surround us.  You have work to do.”

The way in which she spoke aroused me as from a dream, yet with a question upon my lips.

“Yes,” I said, “and we are in midst of war—­in this are we yet enemies?”

“I am a Southerner,” smiling softly, “and I hope the South wins.  My father is out yonder fighting, if he be not already down, and I would do my best to serve his cause.  Do you care for me less because I confess this?”

“No.”

“But now,” she went on, more softly still, her words barely audible, “my heart is with you here; with you, because I love you.”

We both glanced up swiftly, startled by the sound of heavy steps in the upper hall.  A man’s head was thrust through the half-opened door at the top of the stairs.  Apparently he could not see any distance through the gloom, and I hailed him, although still retaining my clasp of the girl’s hand.

“What is it, my man?”

“Sergeant Mahoney told me to find the lieutenant.”

“Well, you have; I am the one sought.  What’s happening?”

“They’re a-comin’, sorr,” his voice hoarse with excitement, and waving one hand toward the front of the house, “an’ thar’s goin’ ter be hell ter pay this toime”

“You mean the gray-backs?  From the front?  What force?”

“Domn’d if Oi know; Oi wasn’t seein’ out thar—­the sergeant told me.”

I could not leave Billie down there alone, nor the door open.  Whoever the crazed assassin was, he must still remain somewhere in the cellar, watching for an opportunity to escape.  But I was needed above to direct the defence.  It seemed to me I thought of a thousand things in an instant,—­of my desire to clear up the mystery, of my orders to hold the house, of Willifred Hardy’s danger,—­and I had but the one instant in which to decide.  The next I made my choice, at least until I could discover the exact situation for myself.

“Come,” I said soberly.

I closed the door, and faced the trooper.

“You remain here with the lady.  Don’t leave her for a moment except as I order.  Keep your revolver drawn, and your eyes on that door.  Do you understand?”

“Oi do, sorr.”

“She will explain what you are to guard against.  I’ll be back to you in a moment, Billie.”

I caught one glimpse out through the south windows as I passed the door of the dining-room—­moving troops covered the distance, half concealed under clouds of smoke, but none were facing toward us.  On the floor, behind the barricades, a dozen of my men were peering out along the brown carbine barrels, eager and expectant, cartridges piled beside them on the floor.  At the front door I encountered Mahoney, so excited he could hardly talk.