I watched the dim outline of her form.  She was actually doing all this for me—­for me!  She was running this great risk, smothering her own conscience—­for me!  I could not doubt this as a truth; I had probed deeply enough to be assured there was personal interest, friendliness, inspiring the sacrifice.  She would never have lifted a hand to save a Yankee spy; all her sympathy was with the Confederacy.  Yet she was risking all—­her reputation, her life—­to save me!  The knowledge seemed to send fire through my veins, my heart throbbed fiercely.  Oh, she could dissemble, could pretend all this was merely duty, could rage against herself and me, but nevertheless I understood—­she was doing it for me!  I knew, and she should know—­yes, this very night, out yonder in the shadows, when we were alone together I would make her realize what it all meant.  Le Gaire?  What cared I for Le Gaire!  This was Love and War combined, and all is fair in either.  Besides, it was the girl who counted, who must say the final word—­why should I hesitate for the sake of Le Gaire?  Let him fight for himself; surely the prize was worth the battle.

Her hand waved; I could catch the glimmer of the white sleeve, and recognized it as a signal.  With a dozen steps I was at the entrance to the arbor, crouching down low in the shadows.  As noiseless as a ghost she sped across the open space, and joined me.  I could feel her form tremble as I touched her, and she caught my arm with both hands, her face turned backward.

“They are relieving guard,” she faltered, “and will come past here next, for there is a sentry on the opposite side.  We must get farther down under the vines.”

I drew her forward, for she clung to me strangely, as though all the courage and strength had suddenly deserted her.

“There are no guards down here?”

“No.”

“Nor at the stables?”

“I cannot tell; I was afraid to ask.”

The arbor ended some thirty feet from the stables, with a low, vine-covered fence between.  There have been darker nights, yet I could distinguish merely the dim outlines.  Still feeling her clasp on my arm I came to a halt, startled into absolute silence by the approach of the relief guard.  The sturdy tramp of feet, and the slight tinkle of bayonets against canteens, told plainly the fellows had turned our way, although, crouched where we were, we could at first see nothing.  I drew my revolver, my other hand clasping hers, and waited breathlessly.  The little squad came trudging down the opposite side of the fence, only the upper part of their bodies dimly visible against the slightly lighter background of the sky.  I made out the officer in command, and four men, then they wheeled into the shadow of the stables, and the sentinel stationed there challenged.  There was a reply, the sound of a musket brought sharply to the shoulder, a gruff, indistinguishable order, and then again the tramp of feet, dying away in the distance.  Every movement, and word, told the story, revealed the situation.  I turned my eyes back to the girl’s face, questioningly, barely able to perceive its whiteness.