“Possibly not, but I prefer you should have my version to compare with what he may say.  We have met strangely, in a manner which could only happen in time of war, and one day and two nights of adventure together have already made us better acquainted than would a year of ordinary social intercourse.  I value your good wishes, and feel more gratitude than words can express.  I am not going away leaving you to think me unworthy.  I will tell you this exactly as it occurred, and you are to believe me, no matter what is said later.”

My earnestness made an impression and as I paused her lips parted.

“Yes—­I am going to believe you.”

“I felt sure you would.  Now listen, for I must be away, and Le Gaire attended to.”

I told it simply, clearly, making no attempt except to bring out the important facts, realizing that her own imagination would supply the details.  She clung to the fence, our eyes meeting as I spoke swiftly, making no comment until I concluded.

“Could I have done otherwise?”

“No; you are not to be blamed, but I am so sorry it happened to be Captain Le Gaire.”

“You mean because—­”

“He has been much to me,” she interrupted, “perhaps still is, although—­” she paused suddenly, catching her breath,—­“yet this can make no difference.”

“But it does.”

She remained silent, and, I thought, drew slightly back.

“You do not wonder?” I asked, unable to restrain myself, “you do not ask why?  May I not tell you?”

“I prefer you should not,” very quietly.  “I am not foolish enough to pretend that I do not understand.  We are going to part now, and you will forget.”

“Is it then so easy for you?”

“I need not confess, only I see how utterly foolish all this is.  The conditions bringing us together in a few hours of intimacy have been romantic, and, perhaps, it is not strange that you should feel an interest in me.  I—­I hope you do, for I shall certainly always feel most kindly toward you, Lieutenant Galesworth.  We are going to part as friends, are we not?  You will remember me as a little Rebel who served you once, even against her conscience, and I will continue to think of you as a brave soldier and courteous gentleman.  Isn’t that worth while?  Isn’t it even better than dreaming an impossible dream?”

“But why impossible?”

“Surely you know.”

“You mean Le Gaire?”

“I mean everything.  Captain Le Gaire may be partially responsible, but there is much besides.  Need we discuss this further?”

I should have hesitated, but I simply could not consent to be dismissed thus completely.  Through the obscuring mist of the night I saw her face dimly, and it fascinated me.  Behind the quiet decision of her voice there was a tremulousness which yielded courage.  I could not part with her like this.

“Billie,” I said, and she started at the familiarity of the name, “I am going to risk even your good opinion rather than leave in doubt.  Don’t treat me like a boy.”  Her hand was upon the fence, and I placed both of my own upon it.  “Be honest with me.  Forget the uniform, this sectional war, and let us simply be man and woman—­can you not?”