"Think! Your rank, your honor, it may be your life, all depend upon your reply. You are concealing something from me. You do not answer," continued Beauregard, keenly scanning the face of the young man standing before him in stubborn silence. "I see that you are shielding some one, sheltering some unworthy person. Who is it?" Still no answer. The general's patience was gradually vanishing in the face of such obstinacy. Yet he restrained his growing displeasure, and continued his questioning. "Where did you go after you left me?" "To my quarters, sir, to write a letter." "Were you there all the time?" "No, sir." "Where did you go after the letter was written?" No answer. "Major Lacy said--" began the general, changing his tactics. "Did he tell you?" cried Sempland, in sudden alarm and great dismay. "He knew then?" exclaimed the general, triumphant in his clew. "No, he didn't tell. He never will tell now. I have learned from a picket boat that was captured last night by our patrols, that nothing was seen of the _David_ after the explosion." "Poor Lacy!" said Sempland. "Well, sir, he died the death of his choice." "Yes," said Beauregard, "little in life became him as the ending of it." A little silence fell between the two in the room. "And I might have been there," said Sempland at last. "I had rather see you dead, sir, than in your present case," commented the general, deftly. "Yes, sir, and I'd rather be there myself," returned the young man, "but I--I beg your pardon, General, were they successful?" "In a measure. They missed the _Wabash_, but blew up the _Housatonic_." "Did the cotton ships get out?" "Unfortunately, no. One of them was sunk. The other two returned in safety. But all this is beside the question. We are losing sight of the main point. For the last time, will you tell me why you failed to be on hand?" "General Beauregard, as I said, I would rather be where Lacy is now than have failed as I did, but I cannot tell you what detained me" "For the last time, Mr. Sempland, I beg of you to answer me. You know the consequences?" The general spoke sharply now. Such determination and contumacy had at last got the better of his patience and forbearance. He had tried to save Sempland, but the young officer would give him no assistance. Well, on his own head it would be. "You realize what is before you, sir?" "Yes, sir." "A court-martial. Possibly--nay, certainly, death. For in the face of your refusal to explain I can do nothing more for you." Sempland bowed to the inevitable. "You have said," he began, "that you did not believe I was a coward, nor a traitor. If you will not allow the stigma of either of these charges to rest upon me, I will bear with equanimity whatever punishment the court-martial may award." "Even to loss of life?" "Yes, sir."