"What's the trouble out here, Sims?" demanded the first to appear,
striding forward. "Well, by all the gods, a Yank, and in full regalia!
Where did you discover this fellow?"
"I'd been back fer a drink, sir," explained the sergeant, still eying
me, "an' was just comin' in through ther door yer, when I run inter him,
sneakin' 'long ther wall--thet's ther whole bloomin' story."
The officer, a smooth-faced lad, turned abruptly to me.
"Well, what have you got to say?"
"Nothing," I answered quietly, "you are perfectly welcome to draw your
own conclusions."
"Oh, indeed," sarcastically. "We'll see what more civil answer you'll
make to the general. Sims, bring the fellow along."
The two soldiers grabbed me roughly by the arms, but I made no
resistance, cool enough by this time, although realizing fully the peril
of my position. I was marched in through the open door, and stood up in
the centre of the dining-room, Sims posted on one side of me, the guard
on the other, the officers forming a picturesque background. Beauregard
was on his feet, and Miss Hardy stood between the windows, her hands
clasped, her cheeks red.
"What is all this, gentlemen? A Federal officer in full uniform? How
comes he here?"
I made no attempt to answer, unable to formulate an excuse, and the
young fellow broke in swiftly,
"Sims caught him in the hall, General.
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