“Don't!” he begged, tremblingly, “don't answer. I couldn't bear it--if you said 'no' to me.” He jerked his head toward the men who guarded him. “Wait until I'm tried, and not in disgrace.” He shook the gate between them savagely as though it actually held him a prisoner. Mary Cahill raised her head proudly. “You have no right. You've hurt me,” she whispered. “You hurt me.” “Hurt you?” he cried. She pressed her hands together. It was impossible to tell him, it was impossible to speak of what she felt; of the pride, of the trust and love, to disclose this new and wonderful thing while the gate was between them, while the sentries paced on either side, while the curious eyes of the garrison were fastened upon her. “Oh, can't you see?” she whispered. “As though I cared for a court-martial! I KNOW you. You are just the same. You are just what you have always been to me--what you always will be to me.” She thrust her hand toward him and he seized it in both of his, and then released it instantly, and, as though afraid of his own self-control, backed hurriedly from her, and she turned and walked rapidly away. Captain Carr, who had been Ranson's captain in the Philippines, and who was much his friend, had been appointed to act as his counsel. When later that morning he visited his client to lay out a line of defence he found Ranson inclined to treat the danger which threatened him with the most arrogant flippancy. He had never seen him in a more objectionable mood. “You can call the charge 'tommy-rot' if you like,” Carr protested, sharply. “But, let me tell you that's not the view any one else takes of it, and if you expect the officers of the court-martial and the civil authorities to take that view of it you've got to get down to work and help me prove that it IS 'tommy rot.' That Miss Post, as soon as she got here, when she thought it was only a practical joke, told them that the road agent threatened her with a pair of shears. Now, Crosby and Curtis will testify that you took a pair of shears from Cahill's, and from what Miss Post saw of your ring she can probably identify that, too; so--” “Oh, we concede the shears,” declared Ranson, waving his hand grandly. “We admit the first hold-up.” “The devil we do!” returned Carr. “Now, as your counsel, I advise nothing of the sort.” “You advise me to lie?” “Sir!” exclaimed Carr. “A plea of not guilty is only a legal form. When you consider that the first hold-up in itself is enough to lose you your commission--” “Well, it's MY commission,” said Ranson. “It was only a silly joke, anyway. And the War Department must have some sense of humor or it wouldn't have given me a commission in the first place. Of course, we'll admit the first hold-up, but we won't stand for the second one. I had no more to do with that than with the Whitechapel murders.” “How are we to prove that?” demanded Carr. “Where's your alibi? Where were you after the first hold-up?”