I held out my hand, and she extended her own without a moment’s hesitation.

“Good-bye,” she said.  “Shall I not wait here a few moments until you are across the road?”

I touched my lips to her fingers.

“What, with Gerald lying there!” happily.  “Oh, Billie, are you so anxious as that for me to get safely away?”

“I—­I am certainly not anxious to have you caught—­not now.  But you are almost impertinent; indeed you are.  I cannot say a word you do not misinterpret.  Please do not attempt to tease me; let us part friends.”

The tone in which she said this meant far more than the mere words; I had ventured enough, and recognized the limitation to her patience.  However strong her interest in me might already be, no acknowledgment was probable under present circumstances.  I would but waste time, perhaps seriously injure my standing with her, were I to continue.  The future must be left to work out its own miracle—­to reveal her heart, and to prove the worthlessness of Le Gaire.  For me to linger longer, holding her there in constant peril of discovery, would be simply madness.

I led the horse back, past where the disabled Confederate lay, pausing an instant to look down on the dim figure.  He groaned, and turned partially over on one side, evidence that consciousness was returning.  The man was not badly hurt, and I felt no deep regret at his condition.  I could distinguish the narrow bridle path by my feet, and knew I would be less conspicuous out of the saddle.  However, nothing opposed our progress, and we even succeeded in crossing the road without being observed.  Here a long slope, rutted, and partially covered with low bushes, led directly down to the river, and we pushed through the tangle, keeping well hidden.  Once on the bank of the stream all above was concealed from view, but I listened in vain for any sound indicative of pursuit.  The night was mysteriously still, unbroken, even the air motionless.  Obsessed now by the one controlling impulse to get away safely, I drove the horse into the water, and as he reached swimming depth, grasped a stirrup leather, and compelled him to strike out for the opposite shore.  It was not a hard struggle, nor were we long at it, although the current was swift enough to bear us down a hundred feet, or more, before we struck bottom, wading out at the mouth of a small creek, the low banks offering some slight concealment.  I looked back through the darkness, across the dim water, and up the shrouded hill on the opposite side.  Lights were winking here and there like fire-flies.  I stared at them, light-hearted, confident I had every advantage; then I patted the horse, and adjusted the stirrups.

“She waited until we were safe across, old fellow,” I said, too pleased to remain still.  “Now we’ll ride for it.”

He turned his head, and rubbed his nose along my arm.  The next moment I was in the saddle, spurring him up the bank.