The match flared out, burning Miles' fingers so he dropped it still glowing on the floor. We could yet distinguish dimly the outlines of the man's form at our feet, and I heard Billie come down the stairs behind us. There was no other sound, except our breathing.
"Strike another, Sergeant," I commanded, surprised by the sound of my own voice, "and we'll see who the fellow is."
He experienced difficulty making it light, but at last the tiny blaze illumined the spot where we stood. I bent over, dreading the task, and turned the dead man's face up to the flare. He was a man of middle age, wearing a closely trimmed chin beard. I failed to recognize the countenance, and glanced up questioningly at Miles just as he uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"It's one of Mahoney's fellows, sir," he asserted sharply. "Burke's the name."
"Then he couldn't possibly be the same man Miss Hardy saw up stairs that first time."
"No, sir, this don't help none to clear that affair up. But it's Burke all right, an' he's had a knife driven through his heart. What do you ever suppose he could 'a' been doin' down here?"
"Where was he stationed?"
"He was with me till that last shindy started; then when you called for more men in the kitchen I sent him an' Flynn out there."
Miles lit a third match, and I looked about striving to piece together the evidence. I began to think I understood something of what had occurred. This soldier, Burke, was a victim, not an assailant. He lay with his hand still clasping the bar which had locked the door. He had been stabbed without warning, and whoever did the deed had escaped over the dead body. I stepped back to where I could see the full length of the cellar; the trap door leading up into the kitchen stood wide open. Convinced this must be the way Burke had come down, I walked over to the narrow stairs, and thrust my head up through the opening. There were six men in the room, and they stared at me in startled surprise, but came instantly to their feet.
"When did Burke go down cellar?" I asked briefly.
The man nearest turned to his fellows, and then back toward me, feeling compelled to answer.
"'Bout ten minutes ago, wasn't it, boys?"
"Not mor 'n that, sir."
"What was he after?"
"Well, we got sorter dry after that las' scrimmage, an' Jack here said he reckoned thar'd be something ter drink down stairs; he contended that most o' these yer ol' houses had plenty o' good stuff hid away. Finally Burke volunteered to go down, an' see what he could find. We was waitin' fer him to com' back. What's happened ter Burke, sir?"
"Knifed."
"Killed! Burke killed! Who did it?"
"That is exactly what I should like to find out. There is some one in this house masquerading in our uniform who must be insane. He killed a Confederate captain this morning, crushed in his skull with a revolver butt, and now he has put a knife into Burke. Has any one come up these steps?"
"Not a one, sir."
"And I was at the head of the other stairs. Then he is hiding in the cellar yet."
Suddenly I remembered that Billie was below exposed to danger; in that semi-darkness the murderous villain might creep upon her unobserved. The thought sent a cold chill to my heart, and I sprang down again to the stone floor.
"Three of you come down, and bring up the body," I called back. "Then we'll hunt the devil."
She had not left the lower step of the front stairs, but caught my hands as though the darkness, the dread uncertainty, had robbed her of all reserve.
"What is it?" she asked. "I do not understand what has happened."
"The man you locked up has escaped," I explained, holding her tightly to me, the very trembling of her figure yielding me courage. "I haven't the entire story, but this must be the way of it: One of the men on duty in the kitchen came down here hunting for liquor. Either the prisoner called to him, and got him to open the door, or else he took down the bar while searching. Anyway we found the door ajar, and the soldier dead."
"Then--then the--the other one is down here somewhere still," cowering closer against me, and staring about through the gloom. "Who--who are those men?"
"Soldiers coming for Burke's body--he was the trooper killed. Don't be afraid, dear--I am here with you now."
"Oh, I know; I would not be frightened, only it is all so horrible. I am never afraid when I can see and understand what the danger is. You do not believe me a silly girl?"
"You are the one woman of my heart, Billie," I whispered, bending until my lips brushed her ear. "Don't draw away, little girl. This is no time to say such things, I know, but all our life together has been under fire. It is danger which has brought us to each other."
"Oh, please, please don't."
"Why? Are you not willing to hear me say 'I love you'?"
Her eyes lifted to mine for just an instant, and I felt the soft pressure of her hand.
"Not now; not here," and she drew away from me slightly. "You cannot understand, but I feel as though I had no right to love. I bring misfortune to every one. I cannot help thinking of Captain Le Gaire, and it seems as if his death was all my fault. I cannot bear to have you say that now, here," and she shuddered. "When we do not even know how he was killed, or who killed him. It is not because I do not care, not that I am indifferent. I hardly know myself."
"Billie," I broke in, "I do understand far better than you suppose. This affair tests us both. But, dear, I do not know what five minutes may bring. We shall be attacked again; I expect the alarm every instant, and I may not come out alive. I must know first that you love me--know it from your own lips."
She was silent, it seemed to me a long, long while. The three soldiers went by carrying the dead body, and Miles came to the foot of the stairs, saw us, and passed along without speaking. Outside was the dull, continuous roar of musketry, mingled with an occasional yell. Then she held out both hands, and looked me frankly in the face.
"I am going to be honest," she said softly. "I have loved you ever since we were at Jonesboro; I--love you now."
I knew this before she spoke; had known it almost from the beginning, and yet her words, the message of her uplifted eyes, gave me a new conception of all love meant. A moment I gazed into the blue-gray depths where her heart was revealed, and then my arms were about her, and our lips met. Surely no one ever received the gift of love in stranger situation. On the stairs leading down into that gloomy cellar where a murderer hid, his victim borne past as we talked; all about us silence and gloom hiding a mysterious crime; above us the heavy feet of men treading the echoing floor, and without the ceaseless roar of battle, volleying musketry, and hoarse shouting. Yet it was all forgotten--the fierce fighting of the past, the passions of war, the sudden death, the surrounding peril--and we knew only we were together, alone, the words of love upon our lips. I felt the pressure of her arms, and crushed her to me, every nerve throbbing with delight.
"Sweetheart, sweetheart," I whispered, "you have kept me in doubt so long."
"It has only been because I also doubted," she answered,--"not my love, but my right to love. To a Hardy honor is everything, and I was bound by honor. Dear, could you ever think a uniform made any difference?--it is the man I love." She drew gently back, holding me from her, and yet our eyes met. "But we must not remain here, thinking only of ourselves, when there is so much to be done. Remember what is down there, and what scenes of horror surround us. You have work to do."
The way in which she spoke aroused me as from a dream, yet with a question upon my lips.
"Yes," I said, "and we are in midst of war--in this are we yet enemies?"
"I am a Southerner," smiling softly, "and I hope the South wins. My father is out yonder fighting, if he be not already down, and I would do my best to serve his cause. Do you care for me less because I confess this?"
"No."
"But now," she went on, more softly still, her words barely audible, "my heart is with you here; with you, because I love you."
We both glanced up swiftly, startled by the sound of heavy steps in the upper hall. A man's head was thrust through the half-opened door at the top of the stairs. Apparently he could not see any distance through the gloom, and I hailed him, although still retaining my clasp of the girl's hand.
"What is it, my man?"
"Sergeant Mahoney told me to find the lieutenant."
"Well, you have; I am the one sought. What's happening?"
"They're a-comin', sorr," his voice hoarse with excitement, and waving one hand toward the front of the house, "an' thar's goin' ter be hell ter pay this toime"
"You mean the gray-backs? From the front? What force?"
"Domn'd if Oi know; Oi wasn't seein' out thar--the sergeant told me."
I could not leave Billie down there alone, nor the door open. Whoever the crazed assassin was, he must still remain somewhere in the cellar, watching for an opportunity to escape. But I was needed above to direct the defence. It seemed to me I thought of a thousand things in an instant,--of my desire to clear up the mystery, of my orders to hold the house, of Willifred Hardy's danger,--and I had but the one instant in which to decide. The next I made my choice, at least until I could discover the exact situation for myself.
"Come," I said soberly.
I closed the door, and faced the trooper.
"You remain here with the lady. Don't leave her for a moment except as I order. Keep your revolver drawn, and your eyes on that door. Do you understand?"
"Oi do, sorr."
"She will explain what you are to guard against. I'll be back to you in a moment, Billie."
I caught one glimpse out through the south windows as I passed the door of the dining-room--moving troops covered the distance, half concealed under clouds of smoke, but none were facing toward us. On the floor, behind the barricades, a dozen of my men were peering out along the brown carbine barrels, eager and expectant, cartridges piled beside them on the floor. At the front door I encountered Mahoney, so excited he could hardly talk.
"What is it?" I questioned swiftly. "An attack in front?"
"It's the big guns, sorr; be gorry, they're goin' to shell us out, an' whar the hell was them reinforcemints, Oi'd loike to know!"
"So would I. If it's artillery we may as well hoist a white flag. Here, my lad, let me look."
A glance was sufficient. Just within the gate, barely beyond reach of our weapons, with a clear stretch of lawn between, was a battery of four guns, already in position, the caissons at the rear, the cannoneers pointing the muzzles. Back of these grim dogs was a supporting column of infantry, leaning on their muskets. There was no doubting what was meant. Angered by loss, Chambers had dragged these commands out of the battle to wipe us clean. He was taking no more chances--now he would blow the house into bits, and bury us in the ruins. What should I do? What ought I to do? The entire burden of decision was mine. Must I sacrifice these men who had already fought so desperately? Should I expose Billie to almost certain death? Surely we had done our full duty; we had held the house for hours, driving back two fierce assaults. The fault was not ours, but those laggards out yonder. I would tell Mahoney and Miles I was going to put out a white flag; that further resistance was useless. Miles! With remembrance of the name I recalled where the man was--down below searching for the murderer. I sprang back, passing Billie and her guard, and flung open the door.
"Miles," I cried into the silent darkness, "we need you up here at once."
There was just a moment of tense waiting, and then a gruff voice sounding afar off,
"I can't, sir, I've got him."