I turned to look out into the black orchard, and then gazed back into the lighted room.  I knew not what to do, how to act.  My remaining where I was could be of no possible service to her, indeed my discovery there would only add to her embarrassment, yet I had no reason to believe the officer had left his seat yonder, and therefore dare not drop to the ground.  My heart ached for the girl, and I longed to get my hands on that cur of a Le Gaire, yet might venture to approach neither.  It was a maddening situation, but I could only stand there in the dark, gripping the rail, unable to decide my duty.  Perhaps she did love me—­in spite of that vigorous denial, perhaps she did—­and the very possibility made the blood surge hot through my veins.  Could I help her in any way?  Whatever her feeling toward me might be, there remained no question as to her growing dislike for Le Gaire.  Not fear, but a peculiar sense of honor alone, held her to her pledge.  And could I remain still, and permit her to be thus ruthlessly sacrificed?  Would Major Hardy permit it if he knew?—­if the entire situation was explained to him?  Le Gaire never would tell him the truth, but would laugh off the whole affair as a mere lovers’ quarrel.  Could I venture to thrust myself in?  If I did, would it be of any use?  It would cost me my liberty, and the liberty of my men; probably I should not be believed.  And would she ever forgive me for listening?  I struggled with the temptation—­swayed by duty and by love—­until my heart throbbed in bewilderment.  Then it was too late.  Fate, tired of hesitancy, took the cards out of my hands.

Billie had been sitting, her head bowed on the table, the light above glistening on her hair.  Suddenly she arose to her feet, her face white and drawn, her hands extended in a gesture of disgust.  Attracted by the open window, and the black vista of night beyond, she stepped through onto the balcony, and stood there, leaning against the rail.

CHAPTER XX

WE ARRIVE AT A CRISIS

I remained there, pressed into one corner, unable to move, scarcely venturing to breathe, her skirt brushing my leg, the strands of her hair, loosened by the night wind, almost in my face.  She was gazing straight out into the night, utterly unconscious of my presence, so deeply buried in her own trouble that all else seemed as nothing.  For a moment she remained motionless, silent; then her hands pressed against her forehead, and her lips gave utterance to a single exclamation: 

“Oh, God!  I can never, never stand it!  What shall I do?”

Perhaps I moved, perhaps some sense of the occult revealed my presence, for she turned swiftly, with a sharp gasp of the breath, and looked straight into my eyes.  The recognition was instant, bewildering, a shock which left her speechless, choking back the cry of alarm which rose into her throat.  She gripped the rail and stared as though at a ghost.