Nothing could be gained by remaining. He had said all he could, used every argument possible to him, and, realising his danger, he turned and disappeared through the back door into the dark rear hall. There was a scraping of chairs and a trampling of feet, a few words heard indistinctly, and then the voice of the old Sergeant: “Fall in! Right Face! Forward—March!” Before they came into the hall, Jonas made one last appeal. He thrust his old black face through the portieres, his eyes rolling, his jaws working. “Fo’ Gawd’s sek, missy, tell him to drap down,” he whispered as he disappeared. Wilfred, not waiting for the soldiers, came into the room, and Caroline followed him. “Where’s mother?” asked Wilfred. “She’s gone up to Howard; I think he is dying,” said Caroline. “She can’t leave him for anybody or anything.” If Edith heard, she gave no sign. She stood motionless on the other side of the room, and stared toward the door; they would bring him back that way, and she could see him again. “Wilfred dear,” asked Caroline, “what are they going to do?” “Shoot him.” “When?” “Now.” “Where?” “Out in the street.” Caroline’s low exclamation of pity struck a responsive chord in Wilfred’s heart. He nodded gravely, and bit his lips. He did not feel particularly happy over the situation, evidently, but the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the men. They came into the room in a double line, Thorne walking easily between them. They entered the room by the door, marched down it, came back, and ranged themselves opposite the stacks of arms. “Halt!” cried the Sergeant. “Right Face! Take arms! Carry arms! Left face! Forward—March!” Edith had not taken her eyes off Thorne since he had reëntered the room. She had watched him as if fascinated. He had shot at her one quick, searching glance, and then had kept his eyes averted, not because he would not like to look at her, but because he could not bear himself like a man in these last swift terrible seconds, if he did. As the men moved to carry out their last order, the girl awoke to her surroundings. “Wait,” she said. “Who is in command!” “I am, miss,” answered the Sergeant. Arrelsford, who had entered with the soldiers, started at this, but he said nothing. “I’d like to speak to the—the prisoner,” continued Edith. “I’m sorry, miss,” answered the Sergeant respectfully, but abruptly; “but we haven’t the time.” “Only a word, Sergeant,” pleaded the girl, stepping close to him, and laying her hand on his arm. The Sergeant looked at her a moment. What he saw in her eyes touched his very soul. “Very well,” he said. “Right face! Fall out the prisoner!” Thorne stepped out in front of the ranks. “Now, Miss,” said the Sergeant; “be quick about it.” “No!” said Wilfred sternly. “Oh, Wilfred!” cried Caroline, laying her hand on his arm. “Let her speak to him, let her say good-bye.”