head of the stairs."

"You overheard what was said?" I interrupted, a new possibility dawning
upon me.

"Much of it, yes," he admitted.

"The plan of attack?--the orders sent me?"

His expression answered.

"And what were you going to do with this information, Major Hardy?"

"Nothing. I considered myself a prisoner on parole. I merely proposed
asking your permission to leave the house with my daughter before
hostilities began. I started down the stairs for that purpose."

"And Billie?"

"I told her this, and sent her to her room after some things. Before I
got down you had disappeared, and I returned up stairs. She was not in
her room, nor could I find a trace of her."

I thought rapidly, staring into his bewildered face, insensibly
listening to the continuous roar without. It was tragedy within tragedy,
the threads of war and love inextricably tangled. What had occurred here
during that minute or two? Had she left voluntarily, inspired by some
wild hope of service to the South? Did that mysterious figure, attired
in our uniform, have anything to do with her disappearance? Did Hardy
know, or suspect more than he had already told? By what means could she
have left the house? If she had not left where could she remain
concealed? Each query only served to make the situation more
complicated, more difficult to solve. To no one of them could I find
an answer.

"Major, did you tell your daughter why you could not carry that
information to your own people?--that you considered yourself a
parolled prisoner?"

He hesitated, realizing now what it was I was seeking to discover.

"Why, I may have said something like that. We spoke of the situation,
and--and Billie appeared excited, but,--why, Galesworth, you do not
imagine the girl would try to carry the news out, alone, do you?"

His doubt was so genuine as to be beyond question. Whatever Billie had
done, it was through no connivance with the father, but upon her own
initiative. Yet she was fully capable of the effort; convinced the cause
of the South was in her hands, she was one to go through fire and water
in service. Neither her life nor mine would weigh in the decision--her
only thought the Confederacy. Still it was not a pleasant reflection
that she would thus war openly against me; would deliberately expose me
to defeat, even death. Could she have made such a choice if she truly
loved me? Her words, eyes, actions continually deceived me. Again and
again I