Exclamations of pity and compassion came from the men as Harriet threw her arms about her brother. On General Hazen's countenance consternation showed as well as commiseration. The scene was sufficiently trying as it was. The feminine note added to the complexity of the situation. Over Clifford Owen's face there swept a swift, indescribable change. He drew his sister to him and held her close, bending his head to hers with a gesture that was full of yearning. There was not a dry eye in the room. Both Americans and English felt it no shame to their manhood that tears streamed unrestrainedly down their cheeks. The brother and sister were so young. The youth, noble and handsome, was striving to bear the tragic fate trust upon him with fortitude yet was torn by his love for his sister. The maiden, so surpassingly lovely that even the violence of her grief could not mar her beauty, was filled with anguish over the impending doom of her brother. That the boy had all he could do to maintain his composure was manifest to every one. For a time it seemed that affection would submerge all other emotions; then came a quick stiffening of his body as though he were preparing himself to resist any further appeal to his tenderness. When he spoke it was clearly and composedly: "My sister, what do you here? This is no place for you." "I had to come," she cried passionately. "Think you I could stay away when I knew not what would be done to you?" "'Tis known now, Harriet. The lot hath been taken. I must accept my fate. Help me to do it bravely, my sister. You are a soldier's daughter, a soldier's sister. Let us show Americans how English men and English women meet untoward events." "Oh," she uttered piteously, "you are to die. What is pride of race when you are to die? And father? What will father say?" "He is a soldier, Harriet. He knows that war hath its vicissitudes which to-day may bring victory; to-morrow, death. He knows this, and we, his children, should know it also. He would like us to meet this with courage and calmness." "I cannot," she cried sobbing convulsively. "I cannot, Clifford. They mean to hang you, my brother; just as Fairfax Johnson was hanged. I cannot bear it." "Cousin David!" The boy turned appealingly toward Mr. Owen. His lips were white. His brow was wet with perspiration. He was fast approaching the limit of his endurance. "Will you take her? I--I cannot----" He compressed his lips tightly, unable to proceed. "Yes, my lad," answered Mr. Owen brokenly. He beckoned to Peggy, and they both endeavored to unclasp Harriet's clinging arms from her brother. "No, no," she shrieked. "I cannot let you go, Clifford. Is there no way to prevent this awful thing? Major Gordon," turning toward that officer suddenly, "can't you do something? Can't you do something?"