"And was it you also who rode into our lines yesterday, telling of Clinton's whereabouts?" "Yes," hesitatingly, her eyes lifting to my face. "But you must listen to me, Major Lawrence; you must learn why I did so unwomanly an act." "First answer one question." "Gladly." "Is there an Eric Mortimer?" "There is," she answered frankly; "my brother. It was for his sake I did all this." A moment I sat my saddle silently, our horses walking side by side through the night, while I endeavored to grasp the meaning of her confession. I knew that she was riding bareheaded, her face turned away. "Go on," I said at last, "tell me the whole story." "I will," firmly, her head uplifted. "I was tempted to do so at Elmhurst, but something seemed to seal my lips. There is now no longer any excuse for silence. I--I wish you to know, and then, perhaps, you may feel more kindly disposed toward me." "Your father is aware--" "No, not even my father. He is scarcely conscious of what is going on about him. Peter knows, and Tonepah," with a wave of her hand into the dark shadows. "They are with you, then--keeping guard over him?" "Yes; they have known from the beginning; not everything, of course, for that was not necessary. Peter is an old servant, silent and trustworthy. He would never question any act of mine, while the Indian has reason to be grateful and loyal to me. Whatever indiscretion, Major Lawrence, I may have been guilty of, I have gone nowhere unaccompanied by these two. You will believe that?" "Yes, and whatever else you tell me." "That now must necessarily be the entire story. As I proceed you will be convinced, I think, that only a true confidence in you would enable me to speak with such frankness. I--I know of no one else in whom I could confide, and--and the time has come when I must have help--the help of a friend. I should have explained to my father--indeed intended to do so--but now he is helpless to aid me. There is no one else I feel able to trust. I--I--you were in my thought to-night; I--I am not sure I did not even pray for your coming, and--and then God sent you." My hand sought hers, and held it against my horse's mane. "Tell it in your own way, dear," I whispered. She flashed one glance into my face, leaving her hand in mine, while our horses took a dozen strides.