“Yes, I understand perfectly, but I make no promise.”

“No promise!  What do you mean?”

“Only that to my mind this is no mere chance acquaintance, nor is it destined to end here.  Sometime I am going to know you, and we are going to be friends.”

“Indeed!” her eyes dropped, the shadow of lashes on her cheeks.  “You are very audacious to say that.”

“Yet you are not altogether sorry to hear me say it.”

“Oh, I do not take your words seriously at all.  They are mere Yankee boasting—­”

She stopped suddenly, the slight flush fading from her cheeks as she arose to her feet, staring out through the open window.  It was the sound of horses’ hoofs on the gravel roadway, and I sprang up also, endeavoring to see.  A squad of troopers was without, dusty, hard-riding fellows, uniformed in Confederate gray.

CHAPTER VI

A BOLD FRONT

It was but a glimpse through the leaf-draped window of dust-caked horses, the bronzed faces of their riders, and the gray hair of Judge Moran, as he hastened down the steps to greet them.  I saw one man swing down from his saddle, and advance toward the house, then a sharp catching of the girl’s breath drew my attention toward her, and our eyes met.

“You—­you must not suppose I expected this,” she faltered, “—­that I have betrayed you.”

There was no doubting her earnestness, nor her disgust at such treachery.

“Not for a moment.  But I must get away.  Are you acquainted with the house?”

“Yes; but two of the men rode around to the well.  It would be impossible now to slip out the back way without discovery.”  She ran across the room, and flung open a door.  “Go in there and lie down; pretend to be asleep.  If the judge does not inform them of your presence here it may never be suspected.  If he does I must cling to the old story.”

I caught her hands, and in the excitement she seemed scarcely aware of the act.

“You are willing to do this for me?”

“I don’t know what I do it for,” a little nervous laugh in her voice.  “When one once gets started into deceit there seems to be no end—­but go quick! the officer is coming now.”

The room into which I was thrust was darkened by lowered shades, but the bookcases lining the walls proclaimed it a library.  A comfortable leather couch occupied the space between the two windows.  The door remained half an inch ajar, and, before I could close it, some one entered the dining-room.  The first words uttered held me silent, listening.  There was a heavy step on the uncarpeted floor, the jingle of spurs, and a startled exclamation from the girl.

“You!  Why, I had no thought of meeting you here.”

“Yet I trust you are not sorry,” the voice deep, yet so low I lost an occasional word.  “Judge Moran says you bear—­”

“Hush,” she interrupted quickly.  “Yes, and they must go on at once.  What brings you here, Gerald?  A scouting party?”