MY LADY OF THE SOUTH
"You mean I would deceive you?"
"No, not with those eyes. I should rather expect you would refuse to answer."
She was silent a long moment, her gaze on my face, evidently endeavoring to control her nerves, and formulate some plan of action. Then her lips smiled, her eyes softening.
"Oh, no; that would be discourtesy even to an enemy. Your clothes appear rough; you have been riding all night, yet you have the face of a gentleman. I may not like the color you wear, but I would much rather lie to you than refuse an answer."
"Then I will test you. Where can I find Big Donald?"
She took a single step backward, still clutching at the trellis rail, the smile vanishing from her face, which had perceptibly whitened.
"Who?"
"Big Donald—that is the name he is known by in our army; the guerilla leader who holds a Confederate commission."
"But why should I know him? Why should I be able to tell you where he is?"
"Because he operates in this neighborhood, and because the people in this house are his assistants."
"And if I did know, do you suppose I would ever tell you?"
"You said you would—or else lie."
"Then I will lie; I know nothing of Big Donald."
I could see the flush spring to her cheeks, the swift
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