I could mark the flash of the stars on the blue steel of his pistol barrel, and knew from the eager ring of his voice he exulted in the hope that I would give him excuse to fire. Yet I thought in that moment of but one thing—the woman who had compromised her name to help me to attain freedom. I would have died a thousand deaths if it might only be with my hands at his throat, her story unknown. Yet even as I braced my body for the leap, gazing straight into that deadly barrel, there came a quick flutter of drapery at my side, and she, pressing me firmly backward, faced him without a word.
The man's extended arm dropped to his side as though pierced by a bullet, and he took one step backward, shrinking as if his startled eyes beheld a ghost.
“Edith?” he cried, as though doubting his own vision, and the ring of agony in his voice was almost piteous. “Edith! My God! You here, at midnight, alone with this man?”
However the words, the tone, the gesture may have stung her, her face remained proudly calm, her voice cold and clear.
“I certainly am, Major Brennan,” she answered, her eyes never once leaving his face. “And may I ask what reason you can have to object?”
“Reason?” His voice had grown hoarse with passion and surprise. “My God, how can you ask? How can you even face me? Why do you not sink down in shame? Alone here,”—he looked about him into the darkness,—“at such an hour, in company with a Rebel, a sneaking, cowardly spy, already condemned to be shot. By Heaven! he shall never live to boast of it!”
He flung up his revolver barrel to prove the truth of his threat, but she stepped directly between us, and shielded me with her form.
“Put down your pistol,” she ordered coldly. “I assure you my reputation is in no immediate danger unless you shoot me, and your bullet shall certainly find my heart before it ever reaches Captain Wayne.”
“Truly, you must indeed love him,” he sneered.
So close to me was she standing that I could feel her form tremble at this insult, yet her voice remained emotionless.