But the door was open.

He sprang to his feet and slipped into the gallery in time to see the tall figure of a woman glide before the last moonlit window at its farthest end.

He could not see her face--but the characteristic turbaned head of the negro race was plainly visible.
He did not care to follow her or even to alarm the guard.

If it were the spy or one of her emissaries, she was powerless now to do any harm, and under his late orders and the rigorous vigilance of his sentinels she could not leave the lines--or, indeed, the house.

She probably knew this as well as he did; it was, therefore, no doubt only an accidental intrusion of one of the servants.