The truth flashed upon Brant. It was his own hand that had precipitated
the attack. But a larger truth came to him now, like a dazzling
inspiration. If he had thus precipitated the attack before they were
ready, there was a chance that it was imperfect, and there was still
hope. But there was no trace of this visible in his face as he fixed his
eyes calmly on hers, although his pulses were halting in expectancy as
he said--
"Then the spy had suspected you, and changed it."
"Oh, no," she said eagerly, "for the spy was with me and was frightened
too. We both ran back together--you remember--she was stopped by the
patrol!"
She checked herself suddenly, but too late. Her cheeks blazed, her
head sank, with the foolish identification of the spy into which her
eagerness had betrayed her.
But Brant appeared not to notice it. He was, in fact, puzzling his
brain to conceive what information the stupid mulatto woman could
have obtained here. His strength, his position was no secret to the
enemy--there was nothing to gain from him. She must have been, like the
trembling, eager woman before him, a mere tool of others.
"Did this woman live here?" he said.
"No," she said. "She lived with the Manlys, but had friends whom she
visited at your general's headquarters."
With difficulty Brant suppressed a start. It was clear to him now. The
information had been obtained at the division headquarters, and passed
through his camp as being nearest the Confederate lines. But what was
the information--and what movement had he precipitated? It was clear
that this woman did not know. He looked at her keenly. A sudden
explosion shook the house,--a drift of smoke passed the window,--a shell
had burst in the garden.
She had been gazing at him despairingly, wistfully--but did not blanch
or start.
An idea took possession of him. He approached her, and took her cold
hand. A half-smile parted her pale lips.
"You have courage--you have devotion," he said gravely. "I believe you
regret the step you have taken. If you could undo what you have done,
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