THE ACCIDENT
"I was merely intending to name myself as a Confederate officer, a friend of Lieutnant Dunn, intrusted by him to bring you here for safety, owing to his having been suddenly ordered out on special duty."
"And—and my accident?"
"Your horse stumbled in the darkness, and fell, in consequence of which I was compelled to convey you on my own."
She drew a deep breath of relief.
"Yes, that will do—that will be best now; they need never know the whole truth."
I waited for an instant, hoping she would be led to add something more, but her lips remained silent. The expression of her face could not be seen, yet I knew she was leaning slightly forward, as though seeking vainly to decipher my features in the gloom.
"I feel that you have sufficient reason to dislike me," I began, anxious to uncover, if possible, her true feeling.
"I know I have, and yet I do not," she exclaimed impulsively, and as though surprised at her own frankness. "I cannot explain why; I ought to hate you for what you have done. Yet in all this trouble you have proven yourself kind, thoughtful, considerate, and I can only feel mortified, hurt, and regretful at my present helplessness."
"It is very good of you to confess even that."
"Oh, no, there is no goodness in it. I am simply accustomed to speaking the truth under all circumstances. It is an unpleasant habit acquired in childhood. You are nothing to me, and never can be; I would do everything in my power to thwart your present purpose; I believe
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