She stretched out her hand toward him, which Thorne clasped closely again.
“But it wasn’t a mistake, and I must go,” he said slowly, rising to his feet once more, but still holding her hand.
“Is it something dangerous?” asked the girl apprehensively.
“Oh, well, enough to make it interesting.”
But Edith did not respond to his well simulated humour. She drew her hand away, and Thorne fancied with a leap of his heart that she did it with reluctance. She began softly:
“Don’t be angry with me if I ask you again about your orders. I must know.”
“But why?” asked Thorne curiously.
“No matter, tell me.”
“I can’t do that. I wish I could,” he answered with a slight sigh.
“You needn’t,” said the girl triumphantly; “I do know.”
The Captain started and, in spite of his control, a look of dismay and apprehension flitted across his face as the girl went on:
“They’re sending you on some mission where death is almost certain. They will sacrifice your life, because they know you are fearless and will do anything. There is a chance for you to stay here, and be just as much use, and I am going to ask you to take it. It isn’t your life alone – there are – others to think of and – that’s why I ask you. It may not sound well, perhaps I ought not – you won’t understand, but you – ”
As she spoke she rose to her feet, confronting him, while she impulsively thrust out her hand toward him again. Once more he took that beloved hand in his own, holding it close against him. Burning avowals sprang to his lips, and the colour flamed into her face as she stood motionless and expectant, looking at him. She had gone as far as a modest woman might. Now the initiative was his. She could only wait.
“No,” said the man at last, by the exercise of the most iron self-control and repression, “you shall not have this against me, too.”
Edith drew closer to him, leaving her hand in his as she placed her other on his shoulder. She thought she knew what he would have said. And love gave her courage. The frankness of war was in the air. If this man left her now, she might never see him again. She was a woman, but she could not let him go without an effort.
“Against you! What against you? What do you mean?” she asked softly.
The witchery of the hour was upon him, too, and the sweetness of her presence. He knew he had but to speak to receive his answer, to summon the fortress and receive the surrender. Her eyes dropped before his passionately searching look, her colour came and went, her bosom rose and fell. She thought he must certainly hear the wild beating of her heart. He pressed her hands closely to his breast for a moment, but quickly pulled himself together again.
“I must go,” he said hoarsely; “my business is – elsewhere. I ought never to have seen you or spoken to you, but I had to come to this house and you were here, and how could I help it? Oh – I couldn’t for my whole – it’s only you in this – ” He stopped and thrust her hands away from him blindly and turned away. As there was a God above him he would not do it. “Your mother – I would like to say good-bye to her.”
“No, you are not going,” cried the girl desperately, playing her last card. “Listen, they need you in Richmond: the President told me so himself – your orders are to stay here. You are to be given a special commission on the War Department Telegraph Service, and you – ”
“No, no, I won’t take it – I can’t take it, Miss Varney.”
“Can’t you do that much for – me?” said the girl with winning sweetness, and again she put out her hands to him.
“It is for you that I will do nothing of the kind,” he answered quickly; “if you ever think of me again after – well, when I am gone, remember that I refused.”
“But you can’t refuse; it is the President’s desire, it is his order, you have got to obey. Wait a moment, I left it upstairs. I will fetch it for you and you will see.”
She turned toward the door.
“No,” said Thorne, “don’t get it, I won’t look at it.”
“But you must see what it is. It puts you at the head of everything. You have entire control. When you see it I know you will accept it. Please wait.”
“No, Miss Varney, I can’t – ”
“Oh, yes, you can,” cried Edith, who would hear no denial as she ran swiftly toward the door.
CHAPTER IV
MISS MITFORD’S INTERVENTION
The Captain stared after her departing figure; he listened to her footfalls on the stair, and then came to an instant resolution. He would take advantage of her opportune withdrawal. He turned back to the table, seized his hat, and started for the door, only to come face to face with another charming young woman, who stood breathless before him to his great and ill-concealed annoyance. Yet the newcomer was pretty enough and young enough and sweet enough to give any man pause for the sheer pleasure of looking at her, to say nothing of speaking to her.
The resources of an ancient wardrobe, that looked as though it had belonged to her great-grandmother, had been called upon for a costume which was quaint and old-fashioned and altogether lovely. She was evidently much younger than Edith Varney, perhaps just sixteen, Wilfred’s age. With outstretched arms she barred the door completely, and Thorne, of course, came to an abrupt stop.
“Oh, good-evening,” she panted, as soon as she found speech; she had run without stopping from her house across the street.
“Good-evening, Miss Mitford,” he answered, stepping to one side to let her pass, but through calculation or chance she kept her position at the door.
“How lucky this is!” she continued. “You are the very person I wanted to see. Let’s sit down and then I’ll tell you all about it. Goodness me, I am all out of breath just running over from our house.”
Thorne did not accept her invitation, but stood looking at her. An idea came to him.
“Miss Mitford,” he said at last, stepping toward her, “will you do something for me?”
“Of course I will.”
“Thank you very much, indeed. Just tell Miss Varney when she comes down – just say good-night for me and tell her that I’ve gone.”
“I wouldn’t do such a thing for the wide, wide world,” returned Caroline Mitford in pretended astonishment.
“Why not?”
“It would be a wicked, dreadful story, because you wouldn’t be gone.”
“I am sorry you look at it that way,” said Thorne, “because I am going. Good-night, Miss Mitford.”
But before he could leave the room, the girl, who was as light on her feet as a fairy, caught him by the arm.
“No – you don’t seem to understand. I’ve got something to say to you.”
“Yes, I know,” said Thorne; “but some other time.”
“No, now.”
Of course, he could have freed himself by the use of a little force, but such a thing was not to be thought of. Everything conspired to keep him when his duty called him away, he thought quickly.
“There isn’t any other time,” said Caroline, “it is to-night. We are going to have a Starvation party.”
“Good Heavens!” exclaimed Thorne; “another!”
“Yes, we are.”
“I can’t see how it concerns me.”
“It is going to be over at our house, and we expect you in half an hour.”
“I shouldn’t think