“Into our lines, sir?  Young Ross would be all right.”

There was a desk in one corner, with writing materials on it, but I was most anxious just then to be assured we controlled the situation.  Some of those fellows across the hall might become restless, and stroll in here at any moment, to discover the cause for delay.

“Very well, Miles; leave Ross here, and carry out your orders; that should give you seven men—­why, no, it doesn’t!  Where is the negro?”

“He said you told him he didn’t need go beyond the head of the ravine, sir,” explained the sergeant, “and as one of the men heard you say so, I didn’t feel like making him come along.  He started back for camp.”

“I believe I did promise something like that,” I admitted, “and he wouldn’t have been much assistance anyway.  Well, six men and yourself ought to do the business.  Watch the windows, so none get away.”

Perhaps I should have gone myself, but I was disinclined to leave the room, desirous of getting off my despatch without delay, and possessed implicit confidence in the promptness and discretion of the sergeant.  He drew his revolver, the men silently following his example, and the little party slipped quietly out into the hall, the last man closing the door behind him.  Evidently they encountered no one in the passageway.  Listening intently I heard the dining-room door thrown back violently, a confused noise of feet, of chairs hurriedly pushed aside, a voice uttering a stern order, the sound of a brief struggle, ended by a blow and the thud of a body striking the floor, then numerous voices speaking excitedly, followed by silence.  Convinced the work had been accomplished, and that the house was now entirely in our possession, I walked across the room to the desk.  Miss Hardy still sat where I had ordered, and I was compelled to pass her chair.  Her eyes met mine coldly.

“Would you permit me to go across to my father?” she asked.

“Most certainly; you are in no sense a prisoner, except I shall have to ask you to remain in the room for the present.”

She inclined her head ever so slightly.

“I shall ask no further favor, and thank you for granting this.”

I sank into the chair at the desk, and watched her cross the room.  Her words and actions hurt me, and yet it was scarcely to be expected that she would be pleased with the sudden change in affairs.  To see me thus in complete control of the situation, her father and Le Gaire prisoners, all their plans frustrated, was maddening, particularly so as she realized that this result came largely through her own indiscretion.  I began myself to doubt the complete success of my scheme.  Without question I had the power now to prevent her marriage, yet I might have gone too far, and caused a revulsion of feeling.  She had been interested in me before—­for it had been her part to help me in times of danger, and sympathy lies very close to love—­but