As she spoke she rose to her feet, confronting him, while she impulsively thrust out her hand toward him again. Once more he took that beloved hand in his own, holding it close against him. Burning avowals sprang to his lips, and the colour flamed into her face as she stood motionless and expectant, looking at him. She had gone as far as a modest woman might. Now the initiative was his. She could only wait. “No,” said the man at last, by the exercise of the most iron self-control and repression, “you shall not have this against me, too.” Edith drew closer to him, leaving her hand in his as she placed her other on his shoulder. She thought she knew what he would have said. And love gave her courage. The frankness of war was in the air. If this man left her now, she might never see him again. She was a woman, but she could not let him go without an effort. “Against you! What against you? What do you mean?” she asked softly. The witchery of the hour was upon him, too, and the sweetness of her presence. He knew he had but to speak to receive his answer, to summon the fortress and receive the surrender. Her eyes dropped before his passionately searching look, her colour came and went, her bosom rose and fell. She thought he must certainly hear the wild beating of her heart. He pressed her hands closely to his breast for a moment, but quickly pulled himself together again. “I must go,” he said hoarsely; “my business is—elsewhere. I ought never to have seen you or spoken to you, but I had to come to this house and you were here, and how could I help it? Oh—I couldn’t for my whole—it’s only you in this——” He stopped and thrust her hands away from him blindly and turned away. As there was a God above him he would not do it. “Your mother—I would like to say good-bye to her.” “No, you are not going,” cried the girl desperately, playing her last card. “Listen, they need you in Richmond: the President told me so himself—your orders are to stay here. You are to be given a special commission on the War Department Telegraph Service, and you——” “No, no, I won’t take it—I can’t take it, Miss Varney.” “Can’t you do that much for—me?” said the girl with winning sweetness, and again she put out her hands to him. “It is for you that I will do nothing of the kind,” he answered quickly; “if you ever think of me again after—well, when I am gone, remember that I refused.” “But you can’t refuse; it is the President’s desire, it is his order, you have got to obey. Wait a moment, I left it upstairs. I will fetch it for you and you will see.” She turned toward the door. “No,” said Thorne, “don’t get it, I won’t look at it.” “But you must see what it is. It puts you at the head of everything. You have entire control. When you see it I know you will accept it. Please wait.” “No, Miss Varney, I can’t——” “Oh, yes, you can,” cried Edith, who would hear no denial as she ran swiftly toward the door. CHAPTER IV