CHAPTER XIV
ACROSS THE RIVER
She came toward me swiftly, slipping through the night like a shadow,instantly recognizing my voice.
"You--you are not hurt, Lieutenant Galesworth?" she asked, her voicetrembling.
"No; merely bruised, and shaken up--the horse did that."
"Oh; was it you who had that struggle with the horse? I--I thought hewould surely kill the man."
"The poor fellow was frightened," and I stroked his neck softly, "andcertainly gave me a hard tussle. But that's all over now. I want toexplain what has happened before I leave."
"Yes."
"I owe you that, do I not, wearing your colors?"
I could not perceive the expression of her face, but the tone of hervoice was not altogether encouraging.
"They were but expressive of my best wishes; of course I wished you tosucceed."
"I wonder--will you continue your good wishes after hearing my story?"
"What do you mean? You have not killed any one?"
"No; but I have hurt one who seems to have some claim upon you."
She drew in her breath quickly, clasping her hands.
"Who?--tell me! Can you mean Captain Le Gaire?"
"I regret to say 'yes'; this was his horse. Now don't blame me until youhear the whole story. I will tell it all in very few words, andthen go."
"But--but you are sure he is not seriously hurt?"
"He may have a rib or collar-bone broken, and is still unconscious;nothing that will keep him out of mischief long. I wanted to tell youall about the affair myself--I don't trust Le Gaire."
"Why say that to me?"
"Because I must. If I understand the man the very first thing he will dowill be to poison your mind against me--"
"He? Why?"
"Miss Hardy," I said soberly, "what use is there for us to play atcross-purposes? You realize that Captain Le Gaire suspects that you havean interest in me, that you have helped in my escape. He doesn't like meany the better for that. Men will do strange things when they are inlove--such men as Le Gaire. Do you suppose I intend permitting him tothus influence you against me, when I am where I cannot defend myself?"
"But he would never do that; I am sure, he never would."
"Possibly not, but I prefer you should have my version to compare withwhat he may say. We have met strangely, in a manner which could onlyhappen in time of war, and one day and two nights of adventure togetherhave already made us better acquainted than would a year of ordinarysocial intercourse. I value your good wishes, and feel more gratitudethan words can express. I am not going away leaving you to think meunworthy. I will tell you this exactly as it occurred, and you are tobelieve me, no matter what is said later."
My earnestness made an impression and as I paused her lips parted.
"Yes--I am going to believe you."
"I felt sure you would. Now listen, for I must be away, and Le Gaireattended to."
I told it simply, clearly, making no attempt except to bring out theimportant facts, realizing that her own imagination would supply thedetails. She clung to the fence, our eyes meeting as I spoke swiftly,making no comment until I concluded.
"Could I have done otherwise?"
"No; you are not to be blamed, but I am so sorry it happened to beCaptain Le Gaire."
"You mean because--"
"He has been much to me," she interrupted, "perhaps still is,although--" she paused suddenly, catching her breath,--"yet this canmake no difference."
"But it does."
She remained silent, and, I thought, drew slightly back.
"You do not wonder?" I asked, unable to restrain myself, "you do not askwhy? May I not tell you?"
"I prefer you should not," very quietly. "I am not foolish enough topretend that I do not understand. We are going to part now, and youwill forget."
"Is it then so easy for you?"
"I need not confess, only I see how utterly foolish all this is. Theconditions bringing us together in a few hours of intimacy have beenromantic, and, perhaps, it is not strange that you should feel aninterest in me. I--I hope you do, for I shall certainly always feel mostkindly toward you, Lieutenant Galesworth. We are going to part asfriends, are we not? You will remember me as a little Rebel who servedyou once, even against her conscience, and I will continue to think ofyou as a brave soldier and courteous gentleman. Isn't that worth while?Isn't it even better than dreaming an impossible dream?"
"But why impossible?"
"Surely you know."
"You mean Le Gaire?"
"I mean everything. Captain Le Gaire may be partially responsible, butthere is much besides. Need we discuss this further?"
I should have hesitated, but I simply could not consent to be dismissedthus completely. Through the obscuring mist of the night I saw her facedimly, and it fascinated me. Behind the quiet decision of her voicethere was a tremulousness which yielded courage. I could not part withher like this.
"Billie," I said, and she started at the familiarity of the name, "I amgoing to risk even your good opinion rather than leave in doubt. Don'ttreat me like a boy." Her hand was upon the fence, and I placed both ofmy own upon it. "Be honest with me. Forget the uniform, this sectionalwar, and let us simply be man and woman--can you not?"
She did not answer, her hand yet held in mine, so startled by my suddenoutburst as to be helpless.
"I must know," I went on heedlessly, the very touch of her flesh makingme reckless. Our position, the danger of the night, all vanished, and Isaw only the whiteness of her face. Perhaps, had I been able to readher eyes, their expression might have served to curb my tongue, butnothing else could have held me silent. "I am going away, going into thelines of a hostile army; I may not reach there alive, and, if I do, Imay fall in the first battle. I must tell you the truth first--I must.Don't call it foolish, for it is not. Dear, I may be a Yankee, but I amalso a man, and I--"
"Oh, stop! please stop!" her fingers clasping me, her form closer. "Ican not--I will not permit you to say this. I have no right. You havemade me disloyal to my country; you shall not make me disloyal to allelse. If I should listen I would have no self-respect left. For my sakebe still, and go."
"But I know you are not indifferent; you cannot conceal the truth."
"Then be content, be satisfied, be generous."
"If you will only say one thing."
"What?"
"That I may come to you--after the war."
She stood a moment motionless, and then withdrew her hand.
"That would be equivalent to a hope which I cannot give," she returnedsoberly. "When the war ends I shall probably no longer be WillifredHardy." My heart beat like a trip-hammer; I could hear it inthe silence.
"The man yonder?"
She bent her head.
"You will not," my voice firm with swift conviction. "If that is all, Iam not afraid. If you loved him would you be standing here even to say aword of farewell? Whatever pledge may be between you, on your part it isnot love. You cannot deny this--not to me! Yes, and you are alreadybeginning to know him. Remember, I have had to listen to someconversation between you--I know his style. Ah, yes, I will go, becauseI dare not keep you out here longer, but, if God lets me live, I amgoing to find you again. Yes, I am; don't doubt that, little girl. Icould stand back for a real man, but not for Le Gaire; that's not inhuman nature. See, I have your ribbon yet, and am going to wear it."
"Without my permission?"
I reached out my arm and drew her gently against the fence barrier, soclose I could look down into her eyes, gazing up into mine startled bythe sudden movement.
"Lip permission, yes--I prefer to read consent elsewhere."
"And do you?"
"I shall believe I do. See, here is the ribbon; will you take it?"
"Of course not. Why should I care if you have that? It has no value tome. But I will not stay and talk longer. Let me go, Lieutenant! yes, youmust. What shall I do to help--to help Gerald?"
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p; "Go straight into the house, and report to the guard. You were walkingin the garden for a breath of air, and overheard the struggle. They willfind him. Good-bye, Billie."
I held out my hand, and she extended her own without a moment'shesitation.
"Good-bye," she said. "Shall I not wait here a few moments until you areacross the road?"
I touched my lips to her fingers.
"What, with Gerald lying there!" happily. "Oh, Billie, are you soanxious as that for me to get safely away?"
"I--I am certainly not anxious to have you caught--not now. But you arealmost impertinent; indeed you are. I cannot say a word you do notmisinterpret. Please do not attempt to tease me; let us part friends."
The tone in which she said this meant far more than the mere words; Ihad ventured enough, and recognized the limitation to her patience.However strong her interest in me might already be, no acknowledgmentwas probable under present circumstances. I would but waste time,perhaps seriously injure my standing with her, were I to continue. Thefuture must be left to work out its own miracle--to reveal her heart,and to prove the worthlessness of Le Gaire. For me to linger longer,holding her there in constant peril of discovery, would besimply madness.
I led the horse back, past where the disabled Confederate lay, pausingan instant to look down on the dim figure. He groaned, and turnedpartially over on one side, evidence that consciousness was returning.The man was not badly hurt, and I felt no deep regret at his condition.I could distinguish the narrow bridle path by my feet, and knew I wouldbe less conspicuous out of the saddle. However, nothing opposed ourprogress, and we even succeeded in crossing the road without beingobserved. Here a long slope, rutted, and partially covered with lowbushes, led directly down to the river, and we pushed through thetangle, keeping well hidden. Once on the bank of the stream all abovewas concealed from view, but I listened in vain for any sound indicativeof pursuit. The night was mysteriously still, unbroken, even the airmotionless. Obsessed now by the one controlling impulse to get awaysafely, I drove the horse into the water, and as he reached swimmingdepth, grasped a stirrup leather, and compelled him to strike out forthe opposite shore. It was not a hard struggle, nor were we long at it,although the current was swift enough to bear us down a hundred feet, ormore, before we struck bottom, wading out at the mouth of a small creek,the low banks offering some slight concealment. I looked back throughthe darkness, across the dim water, and up the shrouded hill on theopposite side. Lights were winking here and there like fire-flies. Istared at them, light-hearted, confident I had every advantage; then Ipatted the horse, and adjusted the stirrups.
"She waited until we were safe across, old fellow," I said, too pleasedto remain still. "Now we'll ride for it."
He turned his head, and rubbed his nose along my arm. The next moment Iwas in the saddle, spurring him up the bank.