of one corner of the seemingly deserted interior, and I crouched down within the rail, cautiously seeking to discover more.  Fortunately the wooden support did not creak under my weight.  The apartment was apparently parlor and sitting-room combined, some of the furniture massive and handsome, especially the centre-table and a sofa of black walnut, but there was also a light sewing-table and a cane-seated rocker, more suggestive of comfort.  At first glance I thought the place empty, although I could plainly hear the murmuring sound of voices from beyond; then I perceived some one—­a woman—­seated on a low stool before the open fire-place.  She sat with back toward me, her head bent upon one hand.  I was still studying the figure in uncertainty when a door, evidently leading into the hall, opened and a man entered.  He was in Confederate field uniform, the insignia on his collar that of a major,—­a tall, broad-shouldered man, with abundant hair and an aggressive expression.  The woman glanced up, but he closed the door, shutting out a jangle of voices, before speaking.

“What was it?  You sent for me?”

She rose to her feet, and came a step forward,—­my heart leapt into my throat, my fingers gripped the rail.

“Yes,” she said quietly, looking into his face, “I have decided I cannot do it.”

“Decided!  What now?” and his surprise was beyond question.  “Why, what does all this mean?  No one has sought to coerce or drive you; this was your own choice.  Surely you have had ample time in which to consider!”

“Oh, yes,” wearily, her hand pressing back her hair, “but—­but I really never understood myself until to-night; I am not sure I do even now.”

“A girlish whim,” he broke in impatiently.  “Why, daughter, this is foolish, impossible; all arrangements are made, and even now they are toasting the captain in the dining-room.  Under no other conditions could he have got leave of absence, for his injuries are trivial.  Johnston told me as much before he left, and I know we shall need every man to-morrow if we force the fighting.”

“Why does he accept leave then, if he is needed here?” she asked quickly.

“For your sake and mine, not fear of battle, I am sure.  There will be no heavy action at this end of our line, as we shall fall back to protect the centre.  But the movement as contemplated will leave all this ground to be occupied by the Yankees; they’ll be here by to-morrow night beyond doubt; even now we retain only a skeleton force west of the pike.  I cannot leave you here alone, unprotected.”

“Is that why you have pressed me so to assent to this hurried arrangement?”

“Yes, Billie,” and he took her hands tenderly.  “Captain Le Gaire suggested it as soon as we learned this region was to be left unguarded, and when he succeeded in getting leave to go south it seemed to me the very best thing possible for you.  Why, daughter, I do not understand your action—­by having the ceremony to-night we merely advance it a few months.”