Her eyes met mine frankly, but with an expression in their depths I failed to fathom.
"Not wearing that uniform," she said quietly, "or under the name of Lieutenant Raymond. Do not misunderstand. There is friendship between us—personal friendship, the memory of the past, a knowledge of the intimacy between your father and mine. More, I am grateful to you for the service you have been to me this night; nor do I hold it against you that you risk your life in the cause for which you fight. But I am Union, Tom Wyatt, and I cannot help you in your work, nor protect you. When daylight comes I am going to say good-by—and forget that I have even seen you."
"But," I protested, "why could we not part, if we must, at Lewisburg, after I know you are safe?"
"There are Federal troops at Lewisburg. They know me, and their commander is aware of my acquaintance with the officer whose name you have assumed."
"Then you knew me for a fraud from the very first moment of our meeting?"
"Yes; I knew you were not the man you claimed to be. I said nothing, for I wished to learn your object."
"Yet, in a measure, at least, you trusted me?"
The eyes into which I gazed smiled slightly.
