United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
"Yet with nothing but imagination to build upon. Have I ever told you I
did not care for Captain Le Gaire, or that I loved you?"
"No," I admitted, feeling myself driven relentlessly to the wall.
"I am not angry at you, for I understand how all this has occurred. I
believe you have been inspired by the highest motives, and a desire to
serve me. If I am angry at any one, it is myself. I have permitted you
to go too far, to assume too much. Now it ends, for I am going to marry
Captain Le Gaire."
She stood up straight before me, her head poised proudly, her cheeks
flushed, her eyes bright with excitement. Never before had she appeared
more attractive, and the love that swelled up into my heart seemed to
choke all utterance. Could I have mistaken everything? Could I have
deceived myself so completely? Did these hard words represent her true
purpose, or were they merely wrung out of her by stress of circumstance?
I could not determine, but I knew this--I could not turn about now and
retreat. If I did that I would certainly lose, while if I fought it out
there was still hope. No woman--at least no woman like Willifred
Hardy--ever loved a coward, or a quitter, and I was determined she
should not catalogue me in either class. All this came to me rather in
instinct than thought, yet I was ready enough when she began
questioning.
"Now you will go away, won't you?"
"Go away?"
"Yes, back to your own people, and leave us alone. There is no reason
why you should stay here longer. You are not serving me, nor your cause.
Release your prisoners, and get away safely before you yourself are
captured."
"Did Le Gaire tell you to make this proposition?"
"Certainly not," indignantly, "I have not spoken to Captain Le Gaire."
"Well, Miss Billie," soberly, "I accept your words just as they are
spoken, and will trouble you no longer with my attentions. But this has
become a military matter now. It is too late for us to attempt getting
back, but I have sent a man for reinforcements, and we shall hold this
house until they come. I do not propose to release a single prisoner, or
permit a rumor of what has occurred here to reach Confederate
headquarters. You are also a prisoner, although I will accept
your parole."
She flung back her head defiantly.
"Which I refuse to give."
"Then obey my orders; is that your room yonder?"
"Yes."
"I will trouble you to go in there."
She stared at me, biting her lip, with foot tapping the carpet, but I
had spoken sternly.
"Do you mean that?"
"Every word. I hope I shall not have to call one of my men, and place
you under guard."
There could be no doubt she was angry, yet I was the master, and, after
one glance into my face, her eyes burning, she swept by me, and entered
the room designated. I gave a glance about its interior, marking the
distance to the ground; then took the key-and inserted it in the outer
lock. She stood silently facing me, her face flushed, her bosom rising
and falling swiftly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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