He hesitated, feeling doubtless the uselessness of further protest, yet she permitted him small opportunity for consideration. “Major,” she said quietly but firmly, “I should be pleased to have you escort me to the house.” These words, gently as they were spoken, still constituted a command. Her eyes were upon his face, and I doubt not he read within them that he would forfeit all her respect if he failed to obey. Yet he yielded with exceeding poor grace. “As it seems impossible to continue,” he admitted bitterly, “I suppose I may as well go.” He turned and fronted me, his eyes glowing. “But understand, sir, this is merely a cessation, not an ending.” I bowed gravely, not daring to trust my voice in speech, lest I should yield to the temptation of my own temper. “Captain Wayne,” she said, glancing back across his broad blue shoulder, and I thought there was a new quality in her voice, the sting had someway gone out of it, “I shall esteem it a kindness if you will call upon me before you depart.” “With pleasure,” I hastened to reply, my surprise at the request almost robbing me of speech, “but I shall be compelled to leave at once, as my troop is already under orders.” “I shall detain you for only a moment, but after what you have passed through on our behalf I am unwilling you should depart without realizing our gratitude. You will find me in the library. Come, Frank, I am ready now.” We remained motionless, watching them until they disappeared around the corner of the shed. Brennan walked with stern face, his step heavy, she with averted eyes, a slight smile of triumph curling her lip. Then Moorehouse stooped and picked up the derringer the Major had thrown away. “By thunder, but she's right!” he exclaimed emphatically. “I tell you that's a mighty fine woman. Blame me, if she didn't face us like a queen.” No one answered, and without exchanging another word we walked together to the house. There I found the remnant of my troop standing beside their horses, chaffing with a dozen idle Yankee cavalrymen who were lounging on the wide steps. The time had come when I must say a final farewell and depart. Not the slightest excuse remained for further delay. I dreaded the ordeal, but no escape was possible, and I entered the house for what I well knew was to be the last time. My mind was gravely troubled; I knew not what to expect, how far I might venture to hope. Why had she desired to see me again? Surely the public reason she offered could not be the real one. Was it to confess that I had won her heart, or to show me by scornful words her indignation at my folly? What should I say, how could I act in her presence? These and a hundred other queries arose to perplex me.