“Well, in my judgment, sir,--and I tell it you because I deem it a duty,--” I retorted plainly, “you are making a grave mistake which you may realize when it becomes too late to rectify it. Possibly I have no right to criticise one who is technically in command; yet I am serving as a volunteer, and the conditions are peculiar. I not only remember the scene witnessed by me in the lines out yonder, but also recall the fact that we are here to fulfil a sacred duty--the defence of helpless women from outrage. A fatal mistake upon our part would be horrible.” “Your deep interest in the welfare of the ladies is purely chivalric, I presume?” “It is merely the interest a true soldier must always feel,” I responded, determined not to be goaded into quarrel. “I have neither wife nor sister, but I have a mother.” “Very well, sir,”--and his tone was rough and overbearing,--“then kindly recall your soldierly instincts to another little matter. I chance to command here by authority of rank, and hold myself responsible for the proper defence of this portion of the house. I believe you have already been assigned your duties; if you will attend to them I shall be greatly obliged, and whenever I may desire your valuable advice I shall take pleasure in sending for you.” I have often wondered since how I controlled myself; yet I did, biting my lip till the blood came, a fair, reproachful face ever before my eyes. “I shall obey your orders,” I managed to say with calmness, so soon as I could control my voice to speak at all, “but shall hold myself, and my men, prepared for a call here at any moment.” “As you please,” with an ill-suppressed sneer. “I have always found you exceedingly anxious to be with the ladies. Indeed I have wondered if you might not prove a modern illustration of that ancient worthy 'whose best boast was but to wear a braid of his fair lady's hair.'” I turned away in silence and strode back to my post, white with anger. The dining-room remained as I had left it, and when I lay down in my old position and peered out throught the broken blind, I could mark no change in the appearance of our besiegers. CHAPTER XXXII HAND TO HAND I have never been willing to believe I slept during the next hour. Wearied as I have often been, duty has ever held my eyes wide open, and I prefer to think I merely plunged so deep in reflection as to become oblivious of all occurring about me. Surely I had sufficient excuse.