“Please do not make the mistake, Lieutenant Galesworth, of thinking me not sufficiently in earnest,” she said firmly, “or that I am unprepared.”

“I do not; if you were only a man I should know exactly what to do.”

“Your courtesy is misplaced; at least I do not ask it.  This is war, and you are upon one side, I on the other.  You will remain in this room until I say you may go.”

“What will hold me?—­your eyes?—­the mere threat of your lips?”

“Something rather more to the purpose than either,” she answered coldly.  Her right hand, concealed by the folds of her skirt, was uplifted, the fingers grasping the black butt of a Colt.  Her lips smiled.  “I suppose you know the efficacy of this weapon, Lieutenant, and that it is loaded.”

My hand dropped instinctively to my belt—­the revolver holster was empty!  It was my own weapon the girl held.

CHAPTER VIII

THE COMING OF THE ENEMY

No matter how charming she may be, a man can never enjoy being outplayed at his own game by a woman.  The piquant face fronting me swam in a mist as a sudden rush of anger swept from me all admiration.  I had been played with, outwitted from the start, every movement checkmated—­even now she was actually laughing at my helplessness.  My first wild impulse was to spring forward, and wrest the revolver from her hand; yet there was that in her attitude, in the expression of her eyes, which made me hesitate.  Would she shoot?  Would the sense of duty to her cause actually induce her to fire at me?  A moment before, I should not have deemed it possible, but now, it seemed to me, she was desperate enough to do even this.  And that was a hair-trigger she fingered so recklessly!  Instead of leaping forward, I stood motionless, outwardly cool, yet with every nerve throbbing.  She read all this in my face, no doubt, for her lips half smiled, her manner exhibited confidence.

“Oh, I can shoot,” she said pleasantly enough, “so I wouldn’t try that if I were you.  Now will you do exactly as I say?”

I remained silent, my hands clinched.  So this was the gentle creature I had been riding with, had even been falling in love with!  This woman, now threatening me with death, was the same happy-hearted, laughing girl whose hand I had held, and to whom I had talked in words of friendship.  I could scarcely realize the change, or comprehend this new development of character.

The unpleasant situation was broken by the sound of steps in the hall.  The door opened, and Judge Moran entered.  Miss Hardy stepped instantly aside, concealing the revolver within the folds of her skirt, yet with watchful eyes on my face.  Moran glanced at us both without suspicion, and approached me with outstretched hand.

“Captain Le Gaire explained to me who you are, Major,” he said with new cordiality, “and I am very glad to receive you as my guest.  Are you one of the Mobile Athertons?”