“It means that I am Arthur Brent, and glad to greet Owen Kilgariff once more in the flesh.” “It means more than that,” answered Kilgariff. “It means that you generously believe in my innocence—jail-bird that I am.” “I have never believed you guilty,” answered the other. “But why not? The evidence was all against me.” “No, it was not. The _testimony_ was. But between evidence and testimony there is a world of difference.” “Just how do you mean?” “Well, you and I know our chemistry. If a score of men should swear to us that they had seen a jet of oxygen put out fire, and a jet of carbonic acid gas rekindle it from a dying coal, we should instantly reject their testimony in favour of the evidence of our own knowledge. In the same way, I have always rejected the testimony that convicted you, because I have, in my knowledge of you, evidence of your innocence. You and I were students together both in this country and in Europe. We were friends, roommates, comrades, day and night. I learned to know your character perfectly, and I hold character to be as definite a fact as complexion is, or height, or anything else. I had the evidence of my own knowledge of you. The testimony contradicted it. Therefore I rejected the testimony and believed the evidence.” “Believe me,” answered Kilgariff, “I am grateful to you for that. I did not expect it. I ought to, but I did not. If I had reasoned as soundly as you do, I should have known how you would feel. But I am morbid perhaps. Circumstances have tended to make me so.” “Come with me to my bedroom upstairs,” said Arthur Brent. “There is much that we must talk about, and we are subject to interruption here.” Then, summoning his orderly, Arthur Brent gave his commands:— “I shall be engaged with Sergeant-major Kilgariff upstairs for some time to come, and I must not be interrupted on any account. Say so to all who may ask to see me, and peremptorily refuse to bring me any card or any name or any message. You understand.” Then, throwing his arm around his old comrade’s person, he led the way upstairs. When the two were seated, Arthur Brent said:— “Tell me now about yourself. How comes it that you are here, and wearing a Confederate uniform?” “Instead of prison stripes, eh? It is simple enough. By a desperate effort I escaped from Sing Sing, and after a vast deal of trouble and some hardship, I succeeded in making my way into the Confederate lines. Thinking to hide myself as completely as possible, I enlisted in a battery that has no gentlemen in its ranks, but has a habit of getting itself into the thick of every fight and staying there. You know the battery—Captain Pollard’s?” “Marshall Pollard’s? Yes. He is one of my very best friends. But tell me—”