“Waited here to be hung, probably,” I broke in, “as that ceremony appears to be part of the programme.  My only hope was that you might possibly object to this item of entertainment.”

“Don’t laugh,” soberly.  “There is no fun in it for me.”

“Then you would show mercy even to a Yankee spy?”

“I am not sure of that.  I am a Rebel, but that has no serious weight now.  You are not a spy; if you have acted as one, it has been more through my fault than your own.  Besides you are my prisoner, and if I should permit you to fall into the hands of those men, to be condemned to death, the memory would haunt me forever.  I am not that kind, Lieutenant Galesworth.  I don’t want your gratitude; I would rather fight you than help you.  I want you to understand this first of all.”

“I do, Miss Hardy; you simply perform a duty.”

“Yes; I—­I keep my word.”

“But, after all, isn’t it a little easier because—­you like me?”

She drew in her breath so quickly it was almost a sob, the swift, unexpected question disarming her in an instant.  It was no longer the tiger cat, but the woman who gasped out a surprised response.

“No; oh, no! that is what makes it harder.”

“Harder to aid me?”

“To see you unjustly condemned, and—­and to realize that perhaps I am disloyal to my country.”

Something about these simple words of confession, wrung from her lips by my insistence, held me silent.  I failed to realize then the full significance of this acknowledgment, and she gave me no opportunity.

“This is ungenerous,” she broke in quickly.  “I do feel friendly toward you; surely I need not be ashamed of this, even though our interests are unlike, our causes opposed.  Everything has conspired to make us friends.  But you must not presume, or take advantage of my position.  Now listen—­I am here for one purpose:  to give you an opportunity of escape.  After that we are strangers; do you accept my terms?”

“You offer no others?”

“None.”

“Then I accept—­until Fate intervenes.”

“You believe in Fate?”

“When aided by human persistence, yes; I intend to represent that goddess.”

She drew back a step, her hand on the door.

“You almost make me regret my effort,” reproachfully.  “However I warn you the goddess this time shall play you false.  But we waste moments in talk.  Here is your revolver, Lieutenant; now come with me.”

She thrust the butt into my hand, and crossed the room to the door opening out into the back yard.  An instant she peered forth into the night; then turned her face back toward me.

“Take my place here,” she whispered.  “See that line of shadow yonder—­it is the grape arbor.  I am going to steal along to the end of the house where I can watch the sentinel.  The instant I signal make for that arbor, and lie quiet until I come.”