“You must understand my only interest is in getting away as soon as possible.  I am in constant danger here.”

“Of course,” nodding, her cheeks flushed.  “And you also possess very important information.  Because I have aided you to escape capture, do you conclude I am a fool?”

“Most assuredly not.”

“Or a traitress to the South?”

“I could not think that.”

“Then let us clearly understand each other once for all.  I have saved you from capture, perhaps death.  The reason I have done this need not be discussed; indeed I could not satisfactorily explain my action even to myself.  But if the truth ever becomes known I shall be placed in a most embarrassing position.  Surely you understand this, and you are a gentleman; I am sure of that.  You are not going to carry that news to your camp.  Before I should permit that to happen I would denounce you openly, and permit those men yonder to think evil of me.  But I do not believe that course necessary.  Instead, I am going to trust you as a gentleman—­am going to accept your word of honor.”

“My word?  You mean my parole?”

“You may call it that—­your pledge to remain in this house until I say you may go.”

“But—­”

“Stop!  Lieutenant Galesworth, do you not owe this to me?”

I hesitated, fronting this direct question, looking straight across the table into her serious face, as she leaned toward me.  What was my most important duty—­that which I owed the Federal army, or that I owed to this girl?  And then again—­did I really have a choice?  There was never a doubt in my mind as to what she would do if the occasion arose.  I had tested her quality already, and fully comprehended the promise to turn me over to the Confederate guard was no idle threat.  She would trust my word, but, failing that, would certainly do the other thing.  There was no spirit of play in those eyes watching me.

“Apparently I possess no real choice,” I answered, at last.  “Either way I am a prisoner.”

She smiled, evidently relieved at my tone.

“Yes—­but have you no preference as to captors?”

“Put thus, hesitation ends; I accept the terms of parole.”

“You mean it?”

“Yes.”

She extended her hand across the table, and I as instantly grasped it, both almost unconscious of the actions.

“I ought to thank you,” I began, but she broke in as quickly: 

“No; please don’t.  I know I am not doing what I should.  It is all so strange that I am actually dazed; I have lost all understanding of myself.  It is painful enough to realize that I yield to these impulses, without being constantly reminded that I fail in duty.  I do not want your gratitude.”

She had withdrawn her hand, and was upon her feet.  I thought her whole form was trembling, her lips seeking to frame words.

“I certainly had no intention of hurting you.”