ruck me
across the face, daring me to an encounter. I am no duellist; this was
my first appearance in that role; but I could never have retained my
self-respect and refused to meet him."

"You--you forced him to accept pistols?"

"In a way, yes. Your father convinced him I was an expert swordsman, and
consequently he chose derringers, believing they would be to his
advantage. The truth is, I am not particularly skilled in the use
of either."

She looked at me a moment as though she would read clear down into the
depths of my soul; then she leaned over against the head of the couch,
her face hidden in her arm.

"I--I will listen," she said falteringly, "to all you have to say."

CHAPTER XXIX

THE MYSTERY DEEPENS

It was a task I distinctly shrank from, but could not escape.

"Shall I not call in your father, and ask him to relate the story?"

"No; I would much rather hear it from you--tell me everything."

My heart throbbed at these simple words, and the thought suddenly
occurred that possibly it was her loss of faith in me, rather than the
death of Le Gaire which had brought such pain. If she had actually
believed all the man had told her, it must have proven a shock, yet how
could I now best counteract his story? It was not my nature to speak ill
of any one, least of all the dead, but I must justify myself, win back
her respect. Only the whole truth could accomplish this. There was a
hassock nearby and I dropped down upon it. She did not move, nor turn
her face toward me.

I began with my orders to report at General Grant's headquarters, so as
to thus make clear to her the reasons bringing me to the Hardy
plantation. I told about our night trip up the ravine, explained my
ignorance of who occupied the house to which I had been, despatched, and
how circumstances compelled me to remain concealed on the balcony, and
thus overhear her conversation with her father and Captain Le Gaire. I
even referred to our quadroon guide, and then it was she suddenly turned
her face toward me.

"A quadroon--and claiming to have once lived here? Who could that be?"

"A servant slave of Le Gaire's."

"Oh, yes! Charles. I remember now--he ran away."

Somehow she seemed more like the Billie of old now, and I went on with
greater confidence, barely touching on my sudden determination to
prevent her wedding, the capture of the house, and our subsequent
conversation together. As I approached the unpleasant interview in the