No matter how charming she may be, a man can never enjoy being outplayed at his own game by a woman. The piquant face fronting me swam in a mist as a sudden rush of anger swept from me all admiration. I had been played with, outwitted from the start, every movement checkmated even now she was actually laughing at my helplessness. My first wild impulse was to spring forward, and wrest the revolver from her hand; yet there was that in her attitude, in the expression of her eyes, which made me hesitate. Would she shoot? Would the sense of duty to her cause actually induce her to fire at me? A moment before, I should not have deemed it possible, but now, it seemed to me, she was desperate enough to do even this. And that was a hair-trigger she fingered so recklessly! Instead of leaping forward, I stood motionless, outwardly cool, yet with every nerve throbbing. She read all this in my face, no doubt, for her lips half smiled, her manner exhibited confidence.

“Oh, I can shoot,” she said pleasantly enough, “so I wouldn’t try that if I were you. Now will you do exactly as I say?”

I remained silent, my hands clinched. So this was the gentle creature I had been riding with, had even been falling in love with! This woman, now threatening me with death, was the same happy-hearted, laughing girl whose hand I had held, and to whom I had talked in words of friendship. I could scarcely realize the change, or comprehend this new development of character.

The unpleasant situation was broken by the sound of steps in the hall. The door opened, and Judge Moran entered. Miss Hardy stepped instantly aside, concealing the revolver within the folds of her skirt, yet with watchful eyes on my face. Moran glanced at us both without suspicion, and approached me with outstretched hand.

“Captain Le Gaire explained to me who you are, Major,” he said with new cordiality, “and I am very glad to receive you as my guest. Are you one of the Mobile Athertons?”

“No,” I answered, flushing, and avoiding her amused eyes, yet not daring to blurt out the truth, “I come from farther north.”

“Exactly; I recall now there are Athertons in Memphis and Nashville, delightful people, the real, old Southern stock. I regret greatly to learn from Le Gaire that duty compels you to leave at once.”

“Major Atherton has changed his plans,” broke in the girl, before I could respond. “The advance of Beauregard’s forces makes it safer for him to remain quiet for a few hours, until night comes. I was just suggesting that he go up to the red room and lie down he is nearly dead from fatigue.”

“The red room!” in surprise. “Surely you jest, Miss Willifred! That is hardly considered a guest chamber.”

“No; but the safest place in the house, if, by any chance, it is searched by a scouting party.”

The old gentleman nodded, as if in approval.

“Possibly it would be safer, although I hardly anticipate any such calls from the enemy with our own people so near. You will not be the first Confederate to lie hidden there, sir,” with a bow to me, and a quick glance toward the smiling girl. “Would you mind showing him the way, my dear? it is becoming difficult for me to mount the stairs.”

“With pleasure; indeed, I was about to propose doing so. Major, you will go first, please.”

However cheerily these words were spoken I understood their quiet threat, and the full meaning of that motionless hand held securely hidden behind the fold of her skirt. She opened the door into the hall, and, with one questioning glance into her eyes, I murmured a word of thanks to the unsuspecting judge, and passed slowly through. Miss Hardy followed, closing the door behind her, the revolver now held in plain view.

“Up the stairs, and turn to the left,” she commanded briefly.

The short, stern, business-like tone in which this order was uttered might have been amusing under other conditions, but scarcely so then when I was smarting under defeat. I glanced back, half tempted to endeavor a sudden leap; yet she was fully prepared, and I hesitated. Would she actually shoot me down? Could it be possible the girl would take my life? I could scarcely conceive of such a probability, she seemed so womanly in every way, so light-hearted, and yet there was no laugh now in her eyes, no lack of determination in the firm setting of her lips.

“Suppose I refuse!”

“I sincerely hope you will not, Lieutenant. This is hard enough for me; don’t make it any harder.”

There could be no doubting what she meant, nor what she had nerved herself to accomplish. Feeling like a whipped cur I went slowly up the broad stairs, my hand on the banister rail, and she followed, keeping even pace with me, the cocked Colt pointing sternly upward at my back.

“The last door yes, beyond the chimney. Step inside, Lieutenant Galesworth. Now close the door.”

I stood, with fingers still grasping the knob, listening. There was a click, as though a heavy key was being turned in the lock, and then withdrawn. Following I heard her quick breath of relief, and a half-suppressed sob. The sound made her seem all woman again.

“Miss Hardy!” I called, my lips at the crack of the door.

“What is it?” the answering voice tremulous.

“I want to tell you that you are a brave girl, and that I do not in the least blame you.”

There was a moment’s hesitating silence, as though my unexpected words had left her speechless. Her breathing told me her lips were also close to the door.

“I I am so glad you said that,” she returned at last. “This this has been so difficult to do. But you know I mean to do it, to hold you here; you realize I am terribly in earnest?”

“Yes but for how long?”

“Until late to-night; then you can do us no deep injury.” Her voice became firmer. “I shall remain on guard here.”

I heard her move away from the direct neighborhood of the door, her steps sounding distinctly on the polished floor. Then something heavy, probably a chair or bench, was drawn forward, following which all was silence. Although I could see nothing the situation in the hall was clear. Confident escape was impossible in any other direction the determined girl had taken up her position opposite the door, prepared for a long vigil. All feeling of anger, even of irritation, had by this time left me. The slight falter, the womanly softness of her voice, had robbed me of all resentment, and I was conscious merely of admiration for her courage and loyalty. But I desired intently to stand equally high in her memory, and in order to do so must exhibit my own wit, my own resources in emergency. I felt the door it was of solid oak, with no spot of weakness evident, even the key-hole being concealed by a metal flap on the outside. The room itself was small, the walls tinted red, and contained no furniture except a narrow bed and one straight-backed chair. Light was admitted through a small window, placed so high in the wall I was compelled to stand on the chair to look out, a mere round opening through which it would be impossible to squeeze my rather stalwart body. It was almost a typical prison cell, apparently affording not the slightest opportunity for escape. I had a pipe in my pocket, and matches, so I lit up, and lay back on the bed, reviewing the situation.

I am not of the disposition which surrenders easily, and my long experience as a scout had inured me to difficult ventures. Almost invariably there are means of escape, if one is fortunate enough to discover the point of weakness and possesses sufficient time in which to work. Yet as I lay there, my eyes anxiously scanning those bare, solid walls, my brain working coolly, the problem appeared unsolvable. The door, of hard-wood, fitting tightly into the jambs, was hopeless, particularly with Billie outside, loaded revolver in hand, nerved to the shooting point. I climbed again to the window, but the casing was solidly spiked into position, and I could barely press my head through the aperture into the open air. It was a thirty-foot sheer drop to the hard gravel of the road beneath, the nearest tree limb a dozen feet distant, with the roof edge far beyond reach of the hand. I sat down in the chair, the blue smoke curling overhead, floating out the window, my eyes studying the red-tinted side walls, as I endeavored to recall each detail of the house’s architecture, and the exact location of this particular room.

I had turned to the left at the head of the stairway, passing by at least three doors. Then there had occurred a slight jog in the hall, making room for a large chimney, while just beyond opened this door. It was not even visible from the front of the house, and would probably be the rearmost apartment no, that was wrong; the hallway, much contracted in width, continued on into the ell. This was quite likely the first of the servants’ quarters, and that east wall must abut directly against the chimney. With a new degree of hopefulness, I pushed aside the bed, and began testing the wall space with my knuckles. If any chimney was there, the stones were protected by wooden casing, which, covered by the red paper, was effectively concealed. I was about to abandon the search when a finger penetrated the paper, revealing a round opening a pipe hole, left uncovered except for the wallpaper. I wrenched out the tin protector, and felt within. The chimney had apparently never been used, the interior being clear of soot, and was built of a single layer of stone, Southern fashion, the irregular fragments mortared together, and plastered smoothly on the inside. Without was a thin, narrow planking, dove-tailed, but secured by nails only at the four corners. This could be easily pried away, leaving the chimney itself open to attack. I could not reach far enough within to touch the opposite wall, but was convinced the space would prove sufficiently large to admit my body. With a knife I tested the resistance of the mortar, breaking the point of the blade, yet detaching quite a chunk, and wrenching out one small stone. Beyond doubt the task might be accomplished but what was below? How was I to get down those smoothly plastered walls and back again, if necessary?

I glanced at my watch; it was already nearing noon, and at any moment food might be brought me. I must wait until after that; then I should probably remain undisturbed for several hours. I shoved back the bed in such position its head-board completely concealed the slight excavation, and sat down upon it, planning anew how best to proceed. The time passed with no unusual sound reaching me from the hall without. Billie evidently felt no desire to acquaint Judge Moran with my real identity, and perhaps would thus experience some difficulty in procuring me food, possibly would make no effort even until night. I succeeded in pushing aside the flap over the key-hole, without making any alarming noise, and applied one eye to the aperture. There was little to be seen merely the end of a bench, and a pair of bare, black feet. The judge’s sole remaining servitor doubtless, doing a turn at guard duty. As I gazed, some outside noise aroused him, and he went softly pattering down the hall.

The same sound startled me also, and I dropped the flap, clambering upon the chair so as to see without. It was a hundred feet to the main road, mostly velvety turf between, with a few trees partially obscuring the view. Yet I could see clearly enough, and up the pike leading through the village, half hidden by a cloud of dust, was advancing a regiment of cavalry, their flags draped, their horses walking in double column. As these swung into the straight road, a battery of artillery followed, gray-jacketed fellows, Confederates Beauregard’s advance.