“Oh, I know—­I know that.  You cannot understand.  Only I am sorry you came—­came into my life, for ever since it has been trouble.  Now you must simply wait until I say go, and then you will go; won’t you?”

“Yes—­but not to forget.”

She turned back toward me.

“You had better,” coldly.  “It will be useless to remember.”

It was my turn to smile, for she could not play the part, her eyes veiling themselves behind the long lashes.

“Nevertheless I shall,” I insisted warmly.  “I find it not altogether unpleasant—­being your prisoner.”

CHAPTER XI

THE RETURN OF LE GAIRE

“I shall endeavor to make it as little unpleasant as I can,” she rejoined, “but will demand obedience.  Right wheel; forward march.  Yes, through the door; the surroundings are not unfamiliar.”

It was the judge’s library, where I had hidden before at the coming of Captain Le Gaire, and she paused in the doorway, glancing curiously about.

“Remember now, you are on parole, but restricted to this room.”

“For how long?” She made an exceedingly pretty picture in that frame, and I was in no hurry to be deprived of it.

“Until—­well, until I am pleased to release you.  Don’t scowl; I’m sure I’m trying to be nice, and I never was so polite to a Yankee before.  Really this is the pleasantest room in the house; I have passed hours in here myself.”

“Perhaps this afternoon—­”

She shook her head violently, her eyes dancing with laughter.

“Certainly not; with all these Confederate officers here.  Sometimes I think you are very conceited—­I wonder if you are.”  And then before I could answer,—­“What a handsome man Captain Bell is; and so delightful of him to remember having met you.”

The witch was plainly enough laughing at me, but she chose a poor subject in Bell.

“And my sentence, then, is solitary confinement?”

“That is far better than you deserve.  Those windows open on the porch, and there is a sentry there; the door leads to the rear of the house.  I shall not even lock it, nor this.  I leave you here upon your word of honor, Lieutenant Galesworth.”

She was gone like the flutter of a bird, and I sank back upon the soft cushion of a library chair, still smiling, my eyes wandering curiously about the room.  Then I got up, examined the windows and the rear door, and returned.  Escape was dangerous, but possible, yet no serious thought of making such an attempt even occurred to me.  For whatever unknown reason, the girl’s quick wit had saved me from capture; I owed her every loyalty, and I had pledged her my word.  That was enough.  The more I turned the circumstances over in my mind the less I seemed to comprehend her motives, yet there could be no doubt she sought to serve me.  A word from her to Le Gaire, or to Beauregard, would have ended my career