CHAPTER XXXIII
THE AVOWAL
THEY set me up where I could lean against the bed, my hands and feet strapped securely, my limbs numb from the tightness of the fastenings. The Sergeant sat opposite me in a chair tilted against the wall, his eyes partially closed, but his jaws busy on the tobacco in his cheek, the guard blocking the doorway. Through the opening I could obtain a glimpse of the field without golden in the sunshine. The full terror of my situation dawned slowly upon me. I was not in the hands of an honorable soldier, but of a cowardly cur seeking revenge. Dunn had reason to hate me—greater reason perhaps than he knew, and sufficient certainly to make him anxious to get me out of the way for all time. Now he had the opportunity, and every instinct of his nature would conspire to that end. He might not be aware of Jean's real love for Donald, but he did know of the form of marriage between us, and had every reason to believe that the intimacy of the past few days had created a friendship dangerous to his ambition. My rough treatment of him would never have led to such reprisal as compassing my death as a spy; there must be another cause, and that cause was Jean Denslow. With me re-
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