"Ah, Herbert, that will be impossible. The duty of a soldier is clear and stern; his punishment, if he fails in it, swift and sure. At the word of command he must march into the very jaws of death, as is right. He must die or madden for the want of rest, rather than fall asleep on his post, for if he does, his punishment is certain and shameful death. Oh, my mother! Oh, Clara! Would heaven I had fallen at Vera Cruz or Churubusco, rather than live to bring this dreadful sorrow upon you," cried Traverse, covering his convulsed face with his hands. "Cheer up, cheer up, old comrade. All is not lost that is endangered, and we shall save you yet!" "Herbert, you know it is impossible." "No, I do not know any such thing!" "You know that I shall be tried to-day and shot to-morrow! Oh, Herbert, never let my dear ones at home know how I shall die. Tell them that I fell before Chepultepec--which will be literally true, you know. Oh, my mother! Oh, my dear Clara, shall I never see you more? Never hear your sweet voices calling me? Never feel the kind clasp of your hands again? Is this the end of a life of aspiration and endeavor? Is this the comfort and happiness I was to bring you?--early bereavement, dishonored names and broken hearts?" "I tell you, no! You shall be saved! I say it!" "Ah, it is impossible." "No, it is only very difficult--so very difficult that I shall be sure to accomplish it!" "What a paradox!" "It is a truth. Things difficult--almost to impossibility--can always be accomplished. Write that upon your tablets, for it is a valuable truth. And now cheer up, for I bring you letters from Clara and your mother." "Letters! from Clara! and mother! Oh, give them to me!" exclaimed the young man eagerly. Herbert handed them, and Traverse eagerly broke the seals, one after another, and devoured the contents. "They are well! They are well and happy! Oh, thank God they are so. Oh, Herbert, never let them know how I shall die! If they think I fell honorably in battle, they will get over it in time, but if they know I died a convict's death it will break their hearts. Oh, Herbert, my dear friend, by all our boyhood's love, never let my poor mother and dear Clara know the manner of my death!" cried Traverse, in an imploring voice. Before he could say another word or Herbert could answer, an orderly sergeant entered and put into Major Greyson's hands a paper that proved to be a summons for him to attend immediately at headquarters to serve upon a court-martial, to try Private Traverse Rocke upon the charge of sleeping on his post. "This is done on purpose to prevent me becoming a witness for the defense!" whispered Herbert to his friend, "but take courage. We will see yet whether you shall succeed!" CHAPTER XXII. THE COURT-MARTIAL. I wish I could Meet all accusers with as good excuse, As well as I am certain I can clear Myself of this. --Shakespeare.