# My Lady of the South/Chapter 34

CHAPTER XXXIV
THE DISCOVERY OF DANIELS
ALL Dunn's pretended bravado seemed to desert him at these words, and I saw Corbett grin, as he watched the indecision in his officer's face.
"Shall we string the Yank up, sir?" he asked, endeavoring to speak with outward respect.
The other did not answer. He was listening to the hoof-beats of horses advancing around the north side of the house. Suddenly Donald trotted into the midst of the group, two men behind him, and drew rein sharply. His eyes swept over the faces, and the shadow rose].
"What is the meaning of this?" he questioned. "Jean, what are you doing here? Dunn, I should like some explanation of this."
"I am not under your orders," growled the Lieutenant, in a last effort at independence. "I belong to the regular service."
Donald leaned forward and looked at the man contemptuously.
"Which you continually manage to disgrace," he said coldly. "But we'll not discuss either rank or authority. Lieutenant King, what did these fellows propose to do with you?"
"Hang me as a spy," I answered, with a shiver. "It ​would have been over with me by now, but for the heroism of Miss Denslow."
I saw the man's lips close firmly, as he glanced from her face to mine, and then at the perturbed countenance of Dunn. Was he jealous also? Would Jean's interference on my behalf make him indifferent to my safety? His decision was too prompt to give me much opportunity for speculation.
"Lieutenant Dunn," he said tersely, "it's perfectly true that I have no authority over you in the service, but I think you know what it means to oppose me now. Irregular though I am, a word from me to General Johnston relative to this matter will bring you face to face with a court martial. This prisoner is not a spy, and has never acted in that capacity. You were thoroughly aware of that fact."
"Then I hold him as prisoner of war. Take charge of him, Connors."
"Wait!" the single word rang out like a shot, and the Sergeant stopped instantly, unable to decide whom he had better obey. "He is not your prisoner, Dunn, but mine. If a man of you lays hands on him again, you shall answer for it to me."
"Your prisoner! My God, how? We captured him in fight. That fellow cost us six men."
Donald flung one booted leg over the pommel of his saddle, and calmly rested a revolver along it, his gaze on the excited faces.
"I am very sorry for that, Lieutenant," he admitted quietly, "but you should have let him alone. Most men ​fight when driven to it. King was my prisoner, and on parole, when you attacked him. I have special authority to parole prisoners whom I cannot send into headquarters. Lieutenant King is my prisoner, and I propose to hold him, by power of this,"—he touched the deadly black barrel resting in his right hand, and smiled. No one spoke; the men stood shuffling uneasily and waiting for their officer to take the initiative. Donald glanced at Jean, perfectly cool, and alert to every movement about him.
"Fennel, dismount and untie Lieutenant King's hands."
The man accomplished this with apparent utter indifference to the scowling faces and growls of the men crowding about him, and I stretched out my arms, aching painfully from the tight cords. Donald realized the danger of the moment, the disinclination of the regulars to yield to his dictation; but they were without leadership, and he held the whip hand, confident that Dunn would never venture open fight.
"That's all," swinging back into the saddle, but with his revolver still in hand. "Fennel, you and Watts ride with the prisoner between you. Jean, you had better return to the house. Lieutenant Dunn, I came back here especially to have word with you upon another matter. I shall expect you in the library in ten minutes."
He held his horse so as to block any attempt at rescue, waiting motionless until we were quite clear of the crowd, then following at a slow walk well to our rear. There was an outburst of profanity, a shaking of ​carbines, a jostling of bodies, but no one led, and the guerilla rode away, smiling as he looked backward.
At the front door he dismounted, and, leaving his two men on guard at the steps, motioned me to follow him within, Jean having disappeared in advance.
"I expect no more trouble from those fellows, King," he said pausing in the hall to face me. "They naturally dislike me, and it rather goes against the grain to take orders from me; but they haven't any confidence in their own officer, and are not certain they have any right to hang you. Dunn will come here to see me first, and I have that to tell him which will give him something new to think about."
"I am most grateful for what you have done," I interposed as he paused, "but I should like to know what you propose doing with me, and the others."
"What others?"
"Those taken with me in the fight yonder—one of my scouts, O'Brien, Mrs. Daniels, and two boys, the younger severely wounded."
"Maria Daniels! She is here then! I will have them seen to at once. As to you. King, I shall keep to my word, and send you back to the Federal lines. But you have been mixed up in this strange affair here, and I want you to see the end of it. We are, I believe, on the verge of clearing up the mystery. Go into the library and wait. I want a moment's conversation with Jean, and will then join you."
The shades were drawn, and the library full of shadows. I sat down facing the table where Judge Dunn ​died, and in the silence, my mind insensibly began to review those swiftly recurring events of the past few days. It seemed to me I had lived years since first coming to this house—years full of violence, death, danger, and excitement. And how greatly was I indebted to Donald, and to Jean! He had gone to her—eager to be with her even for a moment. I wondered if she would confess to him now the story of our relationship. If she did, if she told him all, how would he greet me upon his return? It must have cost her much to make that open avowal before Dunn and his men: she was driven to it by hope of saving my life. But it would be harder yet to confess the truth to Donald.
I had gone no further in my thought, when he came in, crossing the room, and lifting the shades before speaking. There was nothing in his face to give me uneasiness, and he looked me in the eyes smilingly, sitting down with his back to the window.
"I am picking up the ends of a rather tangled skein, King," he said easily, "but little by little it is straightening out. After I talk with Dunn I hope to know what to do. The fellow ought to be here by this time."
We waited for, perhaps, five minutes in silence, Donald seemingly buried in thought, and I afraid to ask those questions which agitated my brain. He was not a man to exhibit emotion, and I could judge nothing as to how he felt or thought from his words or outward actions. What did he know, suspect, plan? How would the knowledge of my midnight marriage to Jean affect him? What did this coming interview with Dunn ​portend? We heard the approaching steps of the latter in the hall, and both glanced up quickly. The Lieutenant came in with a distinct swagger, his sword clattering against the door, as he stiffly came to attention. Donald smiled, gazing at him quietly.
"Kindly take that chair, Lieutenant," he said, "and I will detain you for only a moment."
There was a slight pause of hesitation, Dunn sitting on the edge of the chair, ill at ease, his eyes shifting from face to face. He made no objection to my presence, evidently supposing this interview had to do with my capture. Donald broke the silence with a question.
"Is it true, as I have always been led to believe, that your mother died twelve years ago?"
The man's face changed instantly, his hands gripping the arms of the chair.
"My mother! Why—why do you ask that?"
"Because Lucille said something yesterday which aroused my suspicion. I have just returned from Bartonville; the records of the asylum show she was taken away from there, uncured, by your father. Is this true?"
"Yes," the voice scarcely audible.
"Did she die later?"
"No."
"Where has she been kept concealed all these years?"
Dunn wet his lips, his hands trembled.
"In the west attic," he admitted at last. "It—it was fitted up, and she has been confined there ever since. It has been our family secret."
​However much Donald may have sympathized, his face expressed nothing, and he went coldly on with his questioning.
"Your mother is not now in the west attic; the men who have met their death in this house have been attacked by a woman. Did you know this?"
Dunn rose to his feet trembling.
"Not until a short time ago, Colonel Donald. I have not seen Lucille for several days. A negro told me that the assassin was a woman, and I questioned Lieutenant King as to the truth. From his description I feared it might prove to be my mother. What—what can I do?"
"Go with us in search," and Donald stood erect. "No one in this house is safe until we have her under lock and key again."
Dunn hesitated, glancing questioningly toward me.
"Is it necessary to have this man with us?" he asked.
"I see no reason why he should not be. He already knows the circumstances, and besides is a gentleman to be trusted. It may require the three of us to handle her safely, and I greatly prefer King to any of the men outside."
He crossed the room to the hall, as if the affair were settled, and we followed without exchanging a word or a glance. Much as I despised Dunn, I could not now but feel a certain sympathy for him. Donald led the way up the stairs, and back toward the fireplace. He glanced into the side room, but returned immediately, shaking his head to my look of inquiry.
​"We'll try the tunnel, King," he said swiftly. "Lift the andiron. Who do you suppose closed the trap?"
"Jean, probably, for fear some one might notice."
The secret door swung as easily as ever on its pivot, revealing the interior.
"The man never took the lantern," I exclaimed in surprise, straightening up and pointing at the shelf. Our eyes met in understanding; in our minds was the same thought: perhaps just below we were to discover another tragedy.
Donald descended first, after lighting the lantern and throwing the illumination well down the shaft; I followed, with Dunn loitering in the rear. We grouped together at the foot of the ladder, all alike dreading the possibilities of the dark passage. Donald advanced a step or two, holding the lantern high, so as to throw the rays of light forward. There we saw revealed an outstretched hand. We were used to death, death by violence, but this discovery in that place, our nerves already strained to the utmost, came like a shock. It was a ghastly sight, that one white hand showing there in the ray of light. Dunn gave utterance to a single cry of horror, but Donald and I pressed forward silently, determined to know the truth. A dozen steps and we stood beside the body, able at a glance to comprehend the whole story. Daniels, in his old campaign jacket, his hat beside him, his seamed, rugged face upturned, lay dead at our feet, a knife wound in his throat. Just beyond, with head slightly uplifted on a protuberance of rock lay a woman, her slender figure draped in a faded ​red wrapper, her gray, straggling locks half concealing her face. Between them was the knife, a thin-bladed, deadly poniard.
The stupefaction of horror gripped us, as we stood staring down at the sight. For a moment no one of us grasped the full meaning of this closing tragedy. Then Donald knelt and touched the bodies.
"Both dead," he said soberly, and looted up at us. "No doubt Daniels died first, from the knife wound, but he must have reached her in the struggle, hurling her down with him. As she fell, her head struck the rack and the knife dropped from her hand."
Tenderly he pressed back the gray hair, revealing the woman's face. Death had softened its expression, giving a younger look; yet even now it retained the appearance of suffering. A throb of pity came to me at I looked.
"I remember her now," Donald said gravely "but how the years have changed her! Calvert, she was your mother."
For answer, Dunn dropped upon his knees, and bowed his head over the motionless body.