understand you, Billie," he exclaimed. "Don't you
care, or don't you realize what this means? That fellow has got all our
plans, and he's got safely away with them too, I suppose."

She nodded, as he paused an instant.

"Before morning they'll be over there," with a wave of the hand, "and
our move checkmated. Whose fault is it? Yours and mine. It's enough to
drive a man crazy, and you stand there and laugh."

"I am not laughing."

"Well, you were a minute ago. Do you even suspect who the fellow is?"

"You said he was Major Ath--"

"Oh, hell!" springing to his feet, with sword rattling, and hands
clinched. "I won't stand this, not even from you. You're hiding
something; what is it? Is this Yank anything to you?"

"Absolutely nothing, Captain Le Gaire. Take your hand from my arm,
please. Now I will trouble you to stop this controversy. I am not
indifferent, but I refuse to be bullied, and sworn at. If you are so
wild to capture this spy why don't you make the rounds of the pickets
instead of remaining here and quarrelling with me? The man is not hiding
behind my skirts. I will bid you good-night."

She was gone before he could even fling out a hand to stop her. A moment
he raged between table and wall; then flung out the door and down the
steps, calling for his horse.

CHAPTER XII

AN ATTEMPT AT ESCAPE

The seriousness of my situation was clearly apparent, yet what could I
do in order to save myself? My word was pledged, and it was evident the
girl had no intention of betraying my presence. But would she come to
me? Would she give me the opportunity of escape? It must be accomplished
now if at all, before Le Gaire returned, or had time to complete his
round of the pickets. Every instant of delay robbed me of a chance--and
my life hung in the balance. There was little doubt as to that; I could
advance no military reason for being treated other than as a spy, and my
fate would be the short shift meted out to such over the drum-head. All
this swept through my brain as I listened to the hoofs of Le Gaire's
horse pound the gravel outside, the sound dying away in the distance.
The sentinel marched slowly past the window, his figure silhouetted
against the red glow of a camp-fire inside the gate. Then, without a
warning sound, the door was pushed ajar, and the girl slipped silently
through. The distant reflection of the fire barely served to reveal her
face, and outline her figure. She was breathing heavily and