AGAIN THE WOMAN
It would have been impossible for her to traverse the length of that hall, and operate the tunnel entrance in so brief space of time. Could she have gone down the stairs? I sprang to the railing, and glanced below; a guard, fully armed, stood just within the front door, leaning on his rifle. No one could pass that way unobserved; then she must be hiding within one of the rooms.
So certain was I of this that I took time to the search, opening door after door, and surveying each interior thus revealed with a carefulness which convinced me they were absolutely empty. I found not a single locked door, or anything arousing my suspicion. Two rooms were in slight disorder, as if lately occupied, but nowhere did I discover the slightest trace of the woman sought. Thoroughly puzzled I came out of the last room, that in which the Irish lad and I had been imprisoned, and, scarcely knowing why, paused at the head of the stairs, to glance down once again at the sentry stationed below. He was apparently a young fellow, roughly dressed in butternut, a wide brimmed and rather disreputable hat shading his face. He lifted his eyes to the stairs, and I nearly cried out in startled amazement—as I lived, it was O'Brien! I would have believed it merely a strange resemblance had not the fellow impudently grinned up at me, making use of a peculiar gesture, which left no doubt of his identity. O'Brien, in pretence of Confederate uniform, acting as sentinel here as one of Donald's guerillas! What was the game? What had it to do with my escape? with the mystery of this house? And Jean?—did she
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