“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.”