AN ATTEMPT AT ESCAPE
The seriousness of my situation was clearly apparent, yet what could I
do in order to save myself? My word was pledged, and it was evident the
girl had no intention of betraying my presence. But would she come to
me? Would she give me the opportunity of escape? It must be accomplished
now if at all, before Le Gaire returned, or had time to complete his
round of the pickets. Every instant of delay robbed me of a chance--and
my life hung in the balance. There was little doubt as to that; I could
advance no military reason for being treated other than as a spy, and my
fate would be the short shift meted out to such over the drum-head. All
this swept through my brain as I listened to the hoofs of Le Gaire's
horse pound the gravel outside, the sound dying away in the distance.
The sentinel marched slowly past the window, his figure silhouetted
against the red glow of a camp-fire inside the gate. Then, without a
warning sound, the door was pushed ajar, and the girl slipped silently
through. The distant reflection of the fire barely served to reveal her
face, and outline her figure. She was breathing heavily and trembling
with excitement, her voice barely audible.
"You--you heard what was said in there?" she asked, eager to gain time.
"You know Captain Le Gaire has returned?"
"Yes," thinking to calm her by an appearance of coolness. "He seems to
be a most blood-thirsty individual."
"He was angry at being deceived. No one can blame him, but I simply had
to tantalize him in order to get him away."
"Was that it? Do you mean so you might come here to me?"
"Why, of course. I had promised you. Do you think I would demean myself
by lying--to a Yank? Besides," her voice faltered, "you would have kept
your parole, and--and--"
"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."
I watched the dim outline of her form. She was actually doing all this
for me--for me! She was running this great risk, smothering her own
conscience--for me! I could not doubt this as a truth; I had probed
deeply enough to be assured there was personal interest, friendliness,
inspiring the sacrifice. She would never have lifted a hand to save a
Yankee spy; all her sympathy was with the Confederacy. Yet she was
risking all--her reputation, her life--to save me! The knowledge seemed
to send fire through my veins, my heart throbbed fiercely. Oh, she could
dissemble, could pretend all this was merely duty, could rage against
herself and me, but nevertheless I understood--she was doing it for me!
I knew, and she should know--yes, this very night, out yonder in the
shadows, when we were alone together I would make her realize what it
all meant. Le Gaire? What cared I for Le Gaire! This was Love and War
combined, and all is fair in either. Besides, it was the girl who
counted, who must say the final word--why should I hesitate for the sake
of Le Gaire? Let him fight for himself; surely the prize was worth
the battle.
Her hand waved; I could catch the glimmer of the white sleeve, and
recognized it as a signal. With a dozen steps I was at the entrance to
the arbor, crouching down low in the shadows. As noiseless as a ghost
she sped across the open space, and joined me. I could feel her form
tremble as I touched her, and she caught my arm with both hands, her
face turned backward.
"They are relieving guard," she faltered, "and will come past here next,
for there is a sentry on the opposite side. We must get farther down
under the vines."
I drew her forward, for she clung to me strangely, as though all the
courage and strength had suddenly deserted her.
"There are no guards down here?"
"No."
"Nor at the stables?"
"I cannot tell; I was afraid to ask."
The arbor ended some thirty feet from the stables, with a low,
vine-covered fence between. There have been darker nights, yet I could
distinguish merely the dim outlines. Still feeling her clasp on my arm I
came to a halt, startled into absolute silence by the approach of the
relief guard. The sturdy tramp of feet, and the slight tinkle of
bayonets against canteens, told plainly the fellows had turned our way,
although, crouched where we were, we could at first see nothing. I drew
my revolver, my other hand clasping hers, and waited breathlessly. The
little squad came trudging down the opposite side of the fence, only the
upper part of their bodies dimly visible against the slightly lighter
background of the sky. I made out the officer in command, and four men,
then they wheeled into the shadow of the stables, and the sentinel
stationed there challenged. There was a reply, the sound of a musket
brought sharply to the shoulder, a gruff, indistinguishable order, and
then again the tramp of feet, dying away in the distance. Every
movement, and word, told the story, revealed the situation. I turned my
eyes back to the girl's face, questioningly, barely able to perceive its
whiteness.
"They have a guard there," I whispered, my lips close to her ear. "Is
there no other way out?"
"Yes, on foot, but I supposed you would need a horse."
"And there are horses there?"
"I do not know about any others; I understand the judge has lost all
his, but the one Captain Le Gaire left for you this morning was
taken there."
"You know the situation,"--the cavalryman's eagerness for a mount
overcoming all thought of danger,--"how best to get in."
"Yes; I went out there with Tom when the judge told him to put up the
horse,--I wanted to see how my pony was getting along. The door is on
that side to the east, just around the corner. It is closed by a wooden
button. The pony is in the first stall, and the horse in the second; the
saddle and bridle were hung on a peg behind," she said this clearly,
anxious to make me understand, but then, as the other thought came to
her, her voice broke. "But, Lieutenant Galesworth, you--you cannot get
the horse with the guard there!"
My clasp closed more tightly on her fingers, my resolve hardening.
"He's only a man, perhaps sleepy and careless, while I am wide awake.
One must be willing to assume risk in war. With the horse under me I
have a chance, while on foot I should probably be caught before
daylight. Don't worry; this is not my first attempt."
"You--you mean to try?"
"Certainly; I should be a poor specimen if I did not. But I am going to
say good-bye to you first, and then lie here quietly until you are
safely in the house."
She drew in a quick breath, her face lifting.
"The house! I am going to remain here."
"But the risk you run, and you can be of no help."
"Oh, don't argue!" impatiently. "There is no more risk of my discovery
here than there. I want to know what happens; I would rather face
anything than suspense. Lieutenant Galesworth, I have always had my way,
and I shall now."
Down in my heart I rejoiced at her decision, but all I said was:
"Very well, Miss Willifred, it makes me feel like a knight going forth
to battle under the eyes of his lady." The slight flutter of a ribbon at
her throat caught my eye, and I touched it with my finger. "May I wear
this in token of your good wishes?"
"You--you are not going to kill any one?"
"Not if it can possibly be avoided."
She was silent a moment, so still I could hear her breathing; then her
hands undid the ribbon knot, and she held it toward me.
"I--I do wish you well," she said softly. "I--don't know why, but I do."