United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
“Yes, and no,” she answered frankly. “I was not sure it was you,
of course, and I did not venture to ask, but I knew you were in the
neighborhood, and that such an act would be in every way characteristic.
I was certain you would come if you knew, and I--I, well really, I hoped
it was.”
In spite of a slight effort at restraint I groped in the darkness until
I touched her hand. For the moment she permitted me to retain it, as if
unconsciously, within my grasp.
“Why?” I questioned, scarcely relying upon my own voice.
“Oh, one always trusts friends more readily than strangers, and I have
seen you in danger before, and possess such confidence in your courage
and resource.”
“But Miss Minor took particular care to inform me you felt little or no
interest in me--that you never even spoke of me except as she compelled
you to do so.”
For a moment she did not answer, and then with a light laugh said: “Did
she, really? How very kind of her, and how extremely intimate you must
have become to draw forth so frank a confession. However, Captain Wayne,
you must not give credence to all you hear about me, even from Celia.
You know one does not usually give public expression to one's more
secret thoughts, and I can assure you I have always been most deeply
interested whenever you were the subject of our conversations.”
“Her words made me feel I might be an intruder on your privacy.”
“You are never that. Cold as I appeared only a few hours ago, I was yet
thinking of you as I entered the arbor. Perhaps that was why the sight
meeting my eyes proved such a shock.”
Possibly she felt our conversation growing dangerously intimate, for in
the silence which ensued she gently withdrew her hand. As she did so
my fingers chanced to touch the plain gold ring she wore. It was like
a dash of water in my face, and instantly brought back to me our common
danger.
“How constant the firing continues,” she said at last, as I sat
struggling dumbly with temptation.
“A mere waste of powder, I fear,” was my reply, given thoughtlessly.
“When the rush finally comes we are likely to be without sufficient
ammunition to repel it.”
“When the rush comes?” she echoed in startled tone. “Do you expect an
assault?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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