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 had supposed I knew her, believed I had solved her nature, only to be led into deeper bewilderment.

“Major,” I said soberly.  “I do imagine just that.  There is no sacrifice your daughter would not make for the South.  She realized the importance of this information, and that she alone could take it to Chambers.”

I turned to the back stairs, and went down, feeling my way in the gloom, until I touched the door.  To my surprise it opened, although I knew I had locked it, and the key was still in my pocket.  There were four troopers in the kitchen, and they turned at the noise to stare at me.

“How long have you boys been stationed here?” I questioned.

“’Bout fifteen minutes, I guess,” answered the nearest.  “Ain’t that about it, Joe?”

“Not no longer.”

“Room empty when you came?”

“Not a rat here, that we saw; did we, Joe?”

The other shook his head.

“Was that bar across the outer door there then?”

“No, sir, there wan’t no lock on it, an’ Bill rigged up that contrivance hisself.”