When this little manœuvre, which was completed with swiftness and precision because the men were all veterans, was finished, the Sergeant turned to the prisoner, who had stood composedly watching the performance which took away his last opportunity for escape, and saluted him with distinct admiration. “I am much obliged to you, sir,” he said. How Edith Varney kept her feet, why she did not scream or faint away, she could not tell. Thorne’s words had petrified her. Her pride kept her from acknowledging what she felt. She had never dreamed of any such action on his part, and it seemed to her that she had sent him to his death again. How could she retrace her steps, repair her blunder? There was nothing to do. But her countenance changed. A look of such desperate entreaty came into her face as fully betrayed her feelings. Of the people in the room, only Arrelsford observed her, and even his jealousy and resentment were slightly softened by her visible anguish. Everybody was staring at Thorne, for they all knew the result of his remarkable action, although no one could in the least degree fathom the reason. It was Wilfred who broke the silence. He walked slowly up to Thorne and thrust out his hand. “I would like to shake hands with you,” he said admiringly, and for the first time in the long hours a slight smile quivered about the man’s lips. It was the generous, spontaneous tribute of youth that gave him that moment of melancholy satisfaction. “Oh,” thought Edith, watching her brother; “if only I dared to do the like.” “Is this for yourself?” asked Thorne, “or your father?” “For both of us, sir,” answered Wilfred. Thorne shook him by the hand. The two looked into each other’s faces, and everybody saw the satisfaction and gratification of the older man. “That’s all, Sergeant,” said Thorne, turning away. “Fall in the prisoner! Escort left face! Forward—March!” cried the Sergeant. At that moment a man, breathless from having run rapidly, entered the room by the window. His uniform was that of an officer, and he wore a Lieutenant’s shoulder-straps. “Halt!” he cried, as he burst into the room. “Are you in command, Sergeant?” “Yes, sir.” “General Randolph’s on the way here with orders. You will please wait until——” But Arrelsford now interposed. “What orders, Lieutenant? Anything to do with this case?” The officer looked greatly surprised at this intervention by a civilian, but he answered civilly enough: “I don’t know what his orders are. He has been with the President.” “But I sent word to the Department,” said Arrelsford, “that we had got the man, and were going to drumhead him on the spot.” “Then this must be the case, sir. The General wishes to be present.” “It is impossible,” returned Arrelsford. “We have already held the court, and I have sent the findings to the Secretary. The messenger is to get his approval and meet us at the corner of the street yonder. I have no doubt he is waiting there now. It is a mere formality.”