This I thought was carrying the matter to a very extreme point, but it was not for me, who called myself a gentleman, to say so aloud. "I would not speak of it as treason," I said; "it seems to me to be in accord with nature that you, who are an American, should feel sympathy for the Americans." "Then," she replied, "it is you who have treasonable thoughts, and not I." "I trust I may never falter in doing my duty," I said. "I trust I may not do so either," she said. "Then," I exclaimed, flinging away reserve and caution, "why play this part any longer?" "What part?" she asked, her eyes still unfathomable. "This pretence of Toryism," I cried. "This pretence which we both know to be so unreal. Do I not know that you are a patriot, the noblest of patriots? Do I not honor you for it? Do I not remember every second of our desperate ride together, and glory in the remembrance?" I paused, for I am not accustomed to making high speeches, even when under the influence of strong emotion. Her eyes wavered, for the first time, and the red flush swept over her face. But she recovered herself quickly. "Then say nothing about it, if you would serve me," she said, and rising abruptly she went into the house. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO--_A Full Confession_ Marcel and I had some leisure the next morning at our quarters. "Marcel," said I, "I wish to talk to you on a matter of serious import." "It must be of very high import, in truth," said Marcel, "if I may judge of its nature from the solemn look that clothes your face like a shroud." "It is no matter of jest," I replied, "and it is of close concern to us both." "Very well," replied Marcel, carelessly, flinging himself into a chair. "Then let it be kept a secret no longer." "It is this, Marcel," I replied, and I was in deep earnest. "I am tired of the false characters we have taken upon ourselves. The parts are awkward. We do not fit in them. We have been required to serve against our own people. Only luck, undeserved luck, has saved us from the rope. I want to reassume my own character and my own name, to be myself again." I spoke with some heat and volubility. I was about to add that I was sorry ever to have gone into such a foolish enterprise, but the thought of a fair woman's face recalled the words. And this brought me another thought--that I was unwilling to continue this false _rôle_ with Mary Desmond's eyes upon me. "Is that all?" asked Marcel, beginning to whistle a gay dancing-tune which some newly arrived officers had brought over from London. "No, it is not," I replied. "I said I wished to be myself again, and that I mean to be." "I think I shall do likewise," said Marcel, cutting off his tune in the beginning. "I am tired of this piece of stage-play myself, but I wanted you to say so first." "It is time to leave it off," I added, "and go back to our duty."