# My Lady of the South/Chapter 19

CHAPTER XIX
A REBEL STILL
THE girl's eyes looked almost black over the shining barrel, her lips compressed and resolute. I could see the uplifted hammer, the finger upon the trigger, and realized that the mountain spirit, now thoroughly aroused, made her truly dangerous. And she had determined upon her course.
"Don't move, either of you, except to my orders," her voice sounding hard and metallic, as we stared at her in our first surprise. "O'Brien, reach back and open that door at your left; no, don't move your body; you can reach it with your hand."
He did so, his motion that of an automaton, his eyes fastened on the black muzzle of the gun. Dazed, stupefied, angry as I was, I could not deny the admiration I felt for her cool action. The polished barrel of the carbine never trembled, the watchful eyes never left us, the girl face was white but determined.
"Now move backward into that room, both of you. Lieutenant King, if you drop your hand to your belt I shall have to fire."
I did not believe she would; I could not think it in her nature to do so; besides, the alarm of the discharge would defeat her plans. Yet I durst not risk the experiment; ​durst not venture a movement which would tempt her to carry out her threat.
"Miss Denslow," I protested helplessly, "I have tried to serve you, have trusted you—is this the act of a friend?"
"No," she answered sharply, "this is war. There is nothing between us—nothing which can change my purpose. As God is my witness, if you do not go, I fire."
It was useless to argue, dangerous to delay. The desperation of the girl was evident enough, and, in her present mood, she would probably hesitate at nothing. Step by step we drew back across the threshold, the black muzzle following us steadily, the girl's eye sighting along the barrel, her every nerve apparently strained to the utmost, yet steady with resolve. An instant we remained thus, neither O'Brien nor I daring to change our posture, then, holding the deadly gun still posed, she swung shut the door with her foot, and the lock clicked, leaving us in total darkness.
"The infernal little divil!" he burst forth, finding his tongue in a sudden rush of passion. "The purring cat! Damn me, but I'd loike to git me hands on her for a minute."
"You might as well stop that, O'Brien," I interrupted sternly. "The girl did nothing but her duty. We were fools to give her the chance, and I especially, for I tested her mettle before. The thing for us now is to find some way out, before Donald leads the way in and takes our men in the rear. Feel around, and find out what this room is like."
​Even in the darkness the nature of the apartment was easily discoverable by sense of touch. It was small, apparently the sleeping-quarters of some servant, containing a cot bed, a small table, with only a pincushion on it, a washstand, and two ordinary chairs. From feeling I judged the carpet on the floor to be a rag one, while a heavy curtain, drawn down, concealed the single window. The walls were solid and unbroken, two pictures and a small mirror being their only ornaments. The door was immovable, and of hardwood, against which a knife blade made little impression. As I investigated these details, groping about in the darkness, my mind was busy analyzing the situation. For the third time since entering this house I found myself a prisoner, twice through the wit and nerve of this woman. And she, unknowing it, was my wife. Could there be a stranger position possible; would fiction ever dare to invent so odd, so seemingly impossible a situation? I could scarcely believe it myself, yet might not divorce my mind from her, every nerve a-tingle with the memory of how attractive she appeared even as she stood there holding us helpless under her aim. What a magnificent creature she was, womanly even in that moment of trial, devoted, loyal, ready to sacrifice herself for her cause! Here was surely a heart to love and trust. I made no attempt to deceive myself. Except for those legal bonds, by which we were fraudulently bound together, I was nothing to her—not even a friend. She had been kind, it was true, and had expressed her confidence in me, but her heart had been given elsewhere. For the sake of her lover, as well as ​her cause, she was willing to sacrifice me, if necessary. This knowledge brought me to myself with a shock. I might love her, as I already confessed I did, yet so hopeless a love should not be permitted to interfere between me and my present duty to imperilled comrades. I could not spare her any more than she had spared me. This was war, not love, and she had chosen the course for herself. I would drive from me all thought except the duty to my flag. I would forget everything but that I was a soldier.
I held aside the heavy curtain, and endeavored to peer forth through the glass. 1 could see nothing but a thin waving of branches, and an occasional spark of flame to the left as if our assailants were still firing at the front of the house, to distract attention no doubt from their more important operations at the rear. After some fumbling I discovered the lock of the window, and succeeded in silently raising the sash, so as to lean through the opening with head and shoulders. Yet the reward was scarcely worth the effort; the darkness was intense, and the silence profound. The ground must have been at least thirty feet below, and a great tree stood in front, shadowing everything, its spreading branches obscuring the view. O'Brien thrust his head out beside mine, peering about as with the eyes of a cat.
"It is black as the bottomless pit to me," I whispered; "can you see anything?"
He took his time answering, staring out through the blackness, with one hand shading his eyes.
"There's a grape arbor, or something loike that, ​sthraight ahead, sor," he said at last slowly, "an' maybe there's plenty of Rebs holdin' in it; but there's no signs of thim from here. They're keepin' up some shootin' out in front, an' I thought quite a squad just wint across that open space yonder toward the nigger cabins. They was all bunched together, but there was some movement there to the roight."
"If there were any guards in the grape arbor they would have heard us lift the window," I returned decisively, "and taken a shot this way. Draw in your head until I see if it is possible to reach the roof from here."
"Why not thry a dhrop to the ground, sor?"
"Because after we got there we would be no better off. Those fellows are preparing to come up through that back passage, and our work is to head them off. Help me to lower this upper sash."
I climbed up, pushing my body out as far as possible, while O'Brien steadied me by grasping my feet. My hands groped about for the edge of the roof, and my fingers found firm hold upon the lead gutter. My recollection of the roof was that it had a rather sharp pitch, sufficiently so to make scaling it, even if I could draw my body up, an impossibility. But this gutter was built in solid, and would safely sustain my weight. I swung out, testing it cautiously, expecting every instant to be fired at from below. Nothing happened, however, and I determined to risk the venture.
"Let loose of my feet, O'Brien; I am going to try for the next room."
He was too surprised for protest, but released bis grip, ​and I swung free, dangling from the gutter. I heard him clamber up on the sill, and saw his head poked out through the opening.
"Stay where you are," I ordered softly, "and if I make it I'll let you cut through the door. Be careful; some fellow may take a shot this way."
It was not a particularly difficult enterprise; a bit of a strain on the arms and ﬁngers, of course, yet, under ordinary conditions, I would have thought little of the danger. My principal worry was that of discovery from below. The distance did not exceed ten feet, and I moved along hand over hand, noiselessly, the supporting gutter not yielding in the slightest to my weight, and my mind becoming more conﬁdent as I advanced. I could see little, but my dangling feet told me when I hung opposite the ﬁrst window. Here a serious difficulty presented itself—the window was closed, probably locked. Yet I had anticipated this, reasoning that the clasp would be the same as that of the room in which we had been imprisoned, a half-circle catch between the two sashes. To reach it with my foot I would have to break a pane of glass, and it must be the right pane. I felt for it carefully, becoming more and more keenly aware of the strain on arms and ﬁngers, located the proper spot, and sent my shoe crashing through the glass. A musket boomed from the black shadow of the grape arbor, the leaden messenger chugging into the wood just above my head: two carbines barked from a window of the lower ﬂoor, their flame showing like a red gash in the night. I stuck my leg through the shattered pane, felt the clasp with my ​shoe, and pressed it back. An instant later, with foot and hand, I had forced down the sash, and swung my body in through the opening. It was a ticklish job to let go my grip on the gutter, but my left hand found purchase on the frame of the window, and I squirmed in, inch by inch, expecting every instant a second shot from the fellow in the arbor. As 1 finally dropped to the floor his musket exploded, the bullet singing through the open window, burying itself in the ceiling, and showering me with plaster. The sharp responsive crack of carbines proved the troopers below alert, while a yell of surprise and pain made me hopeful that one of their shots had reached the mark.
The noise of crashing glass, and my fall to the floor, would hardly alarm the girl, even if she remained on guard in the hall, as there had been so much of similar disturbance during the past half-hour. If the door of this room was unlocked, and I could surprise her, the rest would be easily accomplished. I crossed the room softly, tried the knob, which instantly yielded, and, opening the door a scant inch, peered anxiously forth. Looking first toward the fireplace I saw nothing, and it was a moment or two before I perceived her, sitting on a low stool, the cocked carbine across her knees, at the head of the stairs. Instantly I comprehended her purpose. Confident that O'Brien and I were securely caged, and that Donald would lead his men into the house by way of the secret passage, she was waiting to defend the stairs, to prevent any search of the second story. Her back was toward me, and to creep upon her across that soft carpet would not be a ​difficult venture; yet, for the moment I hesitated, dreading the necessity, and feeling the love for her well up into my heart.
She was sufficiently in earnest, no doubt; indeed the intenseness of her attitude, the grip of her fingers on the weapon, her very posture, exhibited determination. And yet the woman in her was equally apparent; the quick trembling of her shoulders, the occasional uplifting of one hand as if she swept aside gathering tears. I could perceive one white cheek, and the fluffy brown of her hair, although the light was so dim that she seemed little more than shadow. In that moment of indecision I would have given the world to go to her, to clasp her in my arms, and stand beside her through right or wrong. War, duty, difference of political opinion, appearing nothing beside the appeal of that pathetic figure guarding the stairs. And yet, if I knew her nature at all, she would despise me if I failed to do my best for the cause in which I was enlisted. Weakness, surrender, would never win her. Womanly though she was, she came of fighting blood, and the man she trusted would have to prove himself. She could respect and admire a worthy enemy, but she would despise a weakling, even if his lack of manhood came through love of her. Besides, she was doing this for Donald, and the mere remembrance stiffened me instantly. She would not find me as easy as she thought; they should never get together and laugh over my discomfiture, or make light of me as a soldier. She had said this was war, and I would bear my part in it.
The door opened noiselessly, and I crept out, my eyes ​never leaving her motionless figure. Apparently there was some movement down stairs, for she kept looking intently that way, utterly oblivious to any danger from behind. I was within a foot of her before some instinct told her of my presence. Even as she leaped to her feet, giving vent to a faint cry of startled fear, I had grasped the barrel of her gun, and held it safely.
"You said, Miss Denslow, this was war," I began sternly, "and now it is my turn. Give me the carbine." She released her grasp of it, her eyes on my face. They were not angry, but soft from unshed tears. Some way the expression in them took all the fight out of me.
"I—I am sorry," I stammered lamely, "that I must hold you prisoner, but you have proven too dangerous to be permitted to go free."
"How did you get here? Where did you come from?" she questioned, finding her voice.
"Oh, that was simple enough. I came out through the window of one room, and in through the window of another. Some of your friends shot at me, but their marksmanship was poor. You must have a pretty low opinion of Yankees to suppose one would lie idle under lock and key."
She sank back upon the chair, her face buried in her hands. A wave of pity swept over me.
"Don't be angry," I urged, thinking only of her. "I could do no less."
"I am not angry at you," and she looked up at me, the tears now plainly visible, "I respect you more because you have not yielded. But—but I have failed—failed ​utterly. I am angry with myself, humiliated, miserable."
"Yes, I can understand that. I felt much the same when the lock clicked behind me. But all this is the fortune of war, and it may be your turn to rejoice in another hour." There was a noise behind, and I wheeled about quickly, throwing up the carbine. O’Brien stood in the open doorway through which I had come, staring at us.
"I got toired waitin', sor," he said, grinning, "so I thried me luck at the gutter route."
"Very good," I returned, driven by his presence to action. "And now, Miss Denslow, I shall be compelled to lock you up for a while."
She rose to her feet, no longer looking at me.
"Where?"
"The room you were in when I ﬁrst came upstairs."
She followed me, without word of protest, her head bent forward. I held open the door, glancing within to see the nature of the apartment. Then her eyes uplifted and met mine, and I raised my cap
"Believe me, I regret this."
"There is no necessity for apology. You merely do your duty," she returned quietly, "I am a Rebel still."
I closed and locked the door.