"Because your father is a Union man.... And you are Union, too, are you not?"

"Yes," she said, smiling; "are you afraid of me?"

A slight flush stained his smooth, sunburnt skin; then he laughed.

"A little afraid," he admitted; "I find you dangerous, but not in the way you mean. I--I do not mean to offend you----"

But she smiled audaciously at him, looking prettier than ever; and his heart gave a surprised little jump at her unsuspected capabilities.

"Why are you afraid of me?" she asked, looking at him with her engaging little smile. In her eyes a bewitching brightness sparkled, partly veiled by the long lashes; and she laughed again, poised there in the sunshine, hands on her hips, delicately provoking his reply.

And, crossing the chasm which her coquetry had already bridged, he paid her the quick, reckless, boyish compliment she invited--a little flowery, perhaps, possibly a trifle stilted, but very Southern; and she shrugged like a spoiled court beauty, nose uptilted, and swept him with a glance from half-closed lids, almost insolent.

The sentry in the holly and laurel thicket stared hard at them both. And he saw his major break off a snowy Cherokee rose and, bending at his slim, sashed waist, present the blossom with the courtly air inbred through many generations; and he saw a ragged mountaineer girl accept it with all the dainty and fastidious mockery of a coquette of the golden age, and fasten it where her faded bodice edged the creamy skin of her breast.

What the young major said to her after that, bending nearer and nearer, the sentry could not hear, for the major's voice was very low, and the slow, smiling reply was lower still.

But the major straightened as though he had been shot through and through, and bowed and walked away among the weeds toward a group of officers under the trees, who were steadily watching the pass through their leveled field glasses.

Once the major turned around to look back: once she turned on the threshold. Her cheeks were pinker; her eyes sparkled.

The emotions of the Special Messenger were very genuine and rather easily excited.

But when she had closed the door, and leaned wearily against it, the color soon faded from her face and the sparkle died out in her dark eyes. Pale, alert, intelligent, she stood there minute after minute, searching the single room with anxious, purposeless eyes; then, driven into restless motion by the torturing tension of anxiety, she paced the loose boards like a tigress, up and down, head lowered, hands clasped against her mouth, worrying the fingers with the edge of her teeth.

Outside, through the dirty window glass, she could see sentries in the bushes, all looking steadily in the same direction; groups of officers under the trees still focused their glasses on the pass. By and by she saw some riflemen in butternut jeans climb into trees, rifles slung across their backs, and disappear far up in the foliage, still climbing.

Toward five o'clock, as she was eating the bacon and hoe cakes which she had found in the hut, two infantry officers opened the door, stared at her, then, without ceremony, drew a rough ladder from the corner, set it outside, and the older officer climbed to the roof.

She heard him call down to the lieutenant below:

"No use; I can't see any better up here.... They ought to set a signal man on that rock, yonder!"

Other officers came over; one or two spoke respectfully to her, but she did not answer. Finally they all cleared out; and she dragged a bench to the back door, which swung open a little way, and, alert against surprise, very cautiously drew from the inner pocket her linen contour map and studied it, glancing every second or two out through the crack in the door.

Nobody disturbed her; with hesitating forefinger she traced out what pretended to be a path dominating the northern entrance of the pass, counted the watercourses and gullies crossing the ascent, tried to fix the elevations in her mind.

As long as she dared she studied the soiled map, but, presently, a quick shadow fell across the threshold, and she thrust the map into the concealed pocket and sprang to open the door.

"Coming military events cast foreboding shadows," she said, somewhat breathless.

"Am I a foreboding and military event?" asked the youthful major, laughing. "What do I threaten, please?"

"Single combat," she said demurely, smiling at him under half-veiled lids. And the same little thrill passed through him again, and the quick color rose to his smooth, sunburnt face.

"I was ready to beat a retreat on sight," he said; "now I surrender."

"I make no prisoners," she replied in airy disdain.

"You give no quarter?"

"None.... Why did you come back?"

"You said I might."

"Did I? I had quite forgotten what I had said to you. When are you going to let me go?"

His face fell and he looked up at her, troubled.

"I'm afraid you don't understand," he said. "We dare not send you away under escort now, because horses' feet make a noise, and some prowling Yankee vidette may be at this very moment hanging about the pass----"

"Oh," she said, "you prefer to let me remain here and be shot?"

He said, reddening: "At the first volley you are to go with an escort across the ridge. I told you that, didn't I?"

But she remained scornful, mute and obstinate, pretty head bent, twisting the folds of her faded skirt.

"Do you think I would let you remain here if there were any danger?" he asked in a lower voice.

"How long am I to be kept here?" she asked pettishly.

"Until the Yankees come through--and I can't tell you when that will be, because I don't know myself."

"Are they in the pass?"

"We don't know. Everybody is beginning to be worried. We can't see very far into that ravine----"

"Then why don't you go where you _can_ see?" she said with a shrug.

"Where?" he asked, surprised.

"Didn't you know that there is a path above the pass?"

"A path!"

"Certainly. I can show you if you wish. You ought to be able to see to the north end of the pass--if I am not mistaken----"

"Wait a moment!" he said excitedly. "I want you to take me there--just a second, to speak to those officers--I'm coming back immediately----"

And he started on a run across the ravaged garden, holding his sabre close, midway, by the scabbard.

That was her chance. Picking up her faded sunbonnet, she stepped from the threshold, swinging it carelessly by one string. The sentries were looking after the major; she dropped her sunbonnet, stooped to recover it, and straightened up, the hidden hand grenade slipping from the crown of the bonnet into her bodice between her breasts.

A thousand eyes seemed watching her as, a trifle pale, she strolled on aimlessly, swinging the recovered sunbonnet; she listened, shivering, for the stern challenge to halt, the breathless shout of accusation, the pursuing trample of heavy boots. And at last, quaking in every limb, she ventured to lift her eyes. Nobody seemed to be looking her way; the artillery pickets were still watching the pass; the group of officers posted under the trees still focused their glasses in that direction; the young major was already returning across the garden toward her.

[Illustration: "She dropped her sunbonnet--stooped to recover it."]

A sharp throb of hope set her pulses bounding--she had, safe in her bosom, the means of warning her own people now; all she needed was a safe-conduct from that knoll, and here it was coming, brought by this eager, boyish officer, hastening so blithely toward her, his long, dark shadow clinging like death to his spurred heels as he ran.