MY LADY OF THE SOUTH
Either other influence had prevailed, or else Federal reinforcements had arrived in the nick of time, and driven the guerillas from the field. This was the most reasonable supposition, for by now I was beginning to guess where I was—this must be the front chamber of the Dunn house. I had explored it in the dark, yet recalled enough of the interior arrangement to feel convinced of its identity. I had to turn slightly to see the door; it stood partially ajar—proof either that I was not being held prisoner, or else that I was considered too badly injured for escape.
I felt no pain, otherwise than the dull aching, and sat up, throwing aside the quilt which covered me. I moved my limbs, testing them, fearing I must be hurt more seriously than was apparent to account for all this care, yet discovered them equal to every requirement. I was partly upon my feet, with a hand grasping the arm of the chair, because of a slight sensation of dizziness, when the door was pushed silently back and a woman took a single step within, instantly pausing, her eyes upon me. It was a face I had seen but once before, yet instantly recognized—the rather weak face of Lucille Dunn, its only claim to beauty the large dark eyes. My sudden return to life and activity must have greatly surprised her, for she stood staring at me in speechless bewilderment; then, before I could move, she slipped back into the hall and disappeared. I heard her call something outside, and had advanced half across the room, when Jean came in quietly, closed the door behind her, and faced me, her lips firmly set, her eyes upon mine.
"I had not anticipated so rapid a recovery," she said
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