I opened the door with all possible caution, and took silent survey of the hall.  The front door stood open and a guard was stationed without, but with his back toward me.  I could hear voices in the dining-room, but the hall itself appeared deserted, and, feeling that it was either now or never, I slipped forth, and started toward the rear.  There were two doors, one at the very extremity of the hall, the other upon the right, both closed.  Uncertain which to choose I tried the first I came to, but, even as I cautiously turned the knob, the second was opened from without, and a man entered hurriedly.  We stared into each others’ faces, both too completely surprised for speech.  He was a cavalry sergeant, a gray-beard, and, with my first movement, was tugging at a weapon.

“Hold on there, my buck!” he said gruffly.  “None o’ that, now.  By God! it’s a Yank.  Bill, come here.”

The guard at the front door ran down the hall toward us, his gun thrown forward.

CHAPTER X

MISS WILLIFRED INTERVENES

Any effort at escape was clearly useless; the noise and shouting had already attracted the attention of those within, and a half-dozen officers streamed out through the dining-room door, eager to learn what had occurred.

“What’s the trouble out here, Sims?” demanded the first to appear, striding forward.  “Well, by all the gods, a Yank, and in full regalia!  Where did you discover this fellow?”

“I’d been back fer a drink, sir,” explained the sergeant, still eying me, “an’ was just comin’ in through ther door yer, when I run inter him, sneakin’ ‘long ther wall—­thet’s ther whole bloomin’ story.”

The officer, a smooth-faced lad, turned abruptly to me.

“Well, what have you got to say?”

“Nothing,” I answered quietly, “you are perfectly welcome to draw your own conclusions.”

“Oh, indeed,” sarcastically.  “We’ll see what more civil answer you’ll make to the general.  Sims, bring the fellow along.”

The two soldiers grabbed me roughly by the arms, but I made no resistance, cool enough by this time, although realizing fully the peril of my position.  I was marched in through the open door, and stood up in the centre of the dining-room, Sims posted on one side of me, the guard on the other, the officers forming a picturesque background.  Beauregard was on his feet, and Miss Hardy stood between the windows, her hands clasped, her cheeks red.

“What is all this, gentlemen?  A Federal officer in full uniform?  How comes he here?”

I made no attempt to answer, unable to formulate an excuse, and the young fellow broke in swiftly,

“Sims caught him in the hall, General.  He is unarmed, but refuses to explain.”

The general’s stern dark eyes were upon my face.

“Hardly a spy, I think,” he said quietly.  “What is the explanation, sir?  Are you the bearer of a message?”