r feet still bare and
glistening, on the otter skin that served as a rug. There were two
doors to the room, one from which her brother had disappeared, which
led to the steps, the other giving on the back gallery, looking inland.
With a quick instinct she caught up her gun and ran to that one, but
not before a rapid scramble near the railing was followed by a cautious
opening of the door. She was just in time to shut it on the extended
arm and light blue sleeve of an army overcoat that protruded through
the opening, and for a moment threw her whole weight against it.

"A dhrop of whiskey, Miss, for the love of God."

She retained her hold, cocked her weapon, and stepped back a pace from
the door. The blue sleeve was followed by the rest of the overcoat,
and a blue cap with the infantry blazoning, and the letter H on its
peak. They were for the moment more distinguishable than the man
beneath them--grimed and blackened with the slime of the Marsh. But
what could be seen of his mud-stained face was more grotesque than
terrifying. A combination of weakness and audacity, insinuation and
timidity struggled through the dirt for expression. His small blue
eyes were not ill-natured, and even the intruding arm trembled more
from exhaustion than passion.

"On'y a dhrop, Miss," he repeated piteously, "and av ye pleeze, quick!
afore I'm stharved with the cold entoirely."

She looked at him intently--without lowering her gun.

"Who are you?"

"Thin, it's the truth I'll tell ye, Miss--whisth then!" he said in a
half-whisper; "I'm a desarter!"

"Then it was YOU that was doggin' us on the Marsh?"

"It was the sarjint I was lavin', Miss."

She looked at him hesitatingly.

"Stay outside there; if you move a step into the room, I'll blow you
out of it."

He stepped back on the gallery. She closed the door, bolted it, and
still holding the gun, opened a cupboard, poured out a glass of
whiskey, and returning to the door, opened it and handed him the liquor.

She watched him drain it eagerly, saw the fiery stimulant put life into
his shivering frame, trembling hands, and kindle his dull
eye--and--quietly raised her gun again.

"Ah, put it down, Miss, put it down! Fwhot's the use? Sure the
bullets yee carry in them oiyes of yours is more deadly! It's out here
oi'll sthand, glory be to God, all night, without movin' a fut till the
sarjint comes to take me, av ye won't levil them oiyes at me like that.
Ah, whirra! loo