Every danger I have known,
That a reckless life can fill;
Yet her presence has not flown,
Her bright smile haunts me still!
A round of applause rang out as Tucker's rich tenor voice ceased.
"Be quiet, you fellows," he directed. "Now, Miss Newton, I hold you to your promise."
Nancy looked about her. The fire had not been replenished, and the darkness was creeping in. It was difficult to clearly distinguish each man's face by the flickering light from the hot embers, but Goddard's expression caught her attention. Her woman's intuition read, and read aright, what he but dimly realized.
A burning blush dyed Nancy's pale cheeks, and for a moment her heart beat more rapidly; then sank. She was a rebel—a spy; he a—ah, not hated—Yankee—a gallant, honorable foe. She must not encourage him. That should not be charged against her when the reckoning came. The old words, "he who breaks—pays," recurred to her. Let hers be the pain, not his. She forgot "My Old Kentucky Home," instead came the words:
Take back the heart that thou gavest,
What is my anguish to thee?