cellar yet."

Suddenly I remembered that Billie was below exposed to danger; in that
semi-darkness the murderous villain might creep upon her unobserved.
The thought sent a cold chill to my heart, and I sprang down again to
the stone floor.

"Three of you come down, and bring up the body," I called back. "Then
we'll hunt the devil."

She had not left the lower step of the front stairs, but caught my hands
as though the darkness, the dread uncertainty, had robbed her of
all reserve.

"What is it?" she asked. "I do not understand what has happened."

"The man you locked up has escaped," I explained, holding her tightly to
me, the very trembling of her figure yielding me courage. "I haven't the
entire story, but this must be the way of it: One of the men on duty in
the kitchen came down here hunting for liquor. Either the prisoner
called to him, and got him to open the door, or else he took down the
bar while searching. Anyway we found the door ajar, and the
soldier dead."

"Then--then the--the other one is down here somewhere still," cowering
closer against me, and staring about through the gloom. "Who--who are
those men?"

"Soldiers coming for Burke's body--he was the trooper killed. Don't be
afraid, dear--I am here with you now."

"Oh, I know; I would not be frightened, only it is all so horrible. I
am never afraid when I can see and understand what the danger is. You do
not believe me a silly girl?"

"You are the one woman of my heart, Billie," I whispered, bending until
my lips brushed her ear. "Don't draw away, little girl. This is no time
to say such things, I know, but all our life together has been under
fire. It is danger which has brought us to each other."

"Oh, please, please don't."

"Why? Are you not willing to hear me say 'I love you'?"

Her eyes lifted to mine for just an instant, and I felt the soft
pressure of her hand.

"Not now; not here," and she drew away from me slightly. "You cannot
understand, but I feel as though I had no right to love. I bring
misfortune to every one. I cannot help thinking of Captain Le Gaire, and
it seems as if his death was all my fault. I cannot bear to have you say
that now, here," and she shuddered. "When we do not even know how he was
killed, or who killed him. It is not because I do not care, not that I
am indifferent. I hardly know myself."

"Billie," I broke in, "I do understand far better than you suppose. This
affair tests us both. But, dear, I do