In
his wildest comprehension of her he had never dreamed her a Joan of Arc,
and yet hers was the face which might have confronted him, exalted and
inspired, on the battlefield itself. He recalled himself with an effort.
"I thank you for your would-be warning," he said more gently, if not
so tenderly, "and God knows I wish your flight had been successful. But
even your warning is unnecessary, for the supports had already come up;
they had followed the second signal, and diverged to engage our division
on the left, leaving me alone. And their ruse of drawing our commander
to assist me would not have been successful, as I had suspected it, and
sent a message to him that I wanted no help."
It was the truth; it was the sole purport of the note he had sent
through Miss Faulkner. He would not have disclosed his sacrifice; but so
great was the strange domination of this woman still over him, that he
felt compelled to assert his superiority. She fixed her eyes upon him.
"And Miss Faulkner took your message?" she said slowly. "Don't deny it!
No one else could have passed through our lines; and you gave her a
safe conduct through yours. Yes, I might have known it. And this was the
creature they sent me for an ally and confidant!"
For an instant Brant felt the sting of this enforced contrast between
the two women.
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