Now Edith Varney had scarcely moved. She had expected nothing, she had hoped for nothing, from the advent of the General. At best it would mean only a little delay. The verdict was just, the sentence was adequate, and the punishment must and would be carried out. She had listened, scarcely apprehending, busy with her own thoughts, her eyes fastened on Thorne, who stood there so pale and composed. But at this remarkable statement by General Randolph she was suddenly quickened into life. A low exclamation broke from her lips. A hope, not that his life might be saved, but that it might be less shameful to love him, came into her heart. Wilfred stepped forward also. The terse statement of the General had caused a great deal of excitement and commotion in the room. Only Thorne preserved his calmness. He was glad that Edith Varney had learned this, and he was more glad that she had learned it from the lips of the enemy, but it would make no difference in his fate. He was not guilty of that particular charge, but there were dozens of other charges for which they could try him, the punishment of any one of which was death. Besides, he was a spy caught in the Confederate lines, wearing a uniform not his own. It was enough that the woman should learn that he had not taken advantage of her action; at least she could not reproach herself with that. “Why, General,” began Arrelsford, greatly dismayed, “I hardly understand what you mean. That despatch—I saw him myself——” General Randolph turned on him quickly. “I say that that despatch was not sent,” he roared, striking the table with his hand. “I expected to arrive in time for the trial. There is one here who can testify. Lieutenant Foray?” From among the group of staff officers who had followed General Randolph, Lieutenant Foray stepped forward before the General and saluted. “Did Captain Thorne send out that despatch after we left you with him in the office an hour ago?” asked the older officer. “No, sir,” answered Foray promptly, glancing from Arrelsford’s thwarted and flushed and indignant countenance to Edith Varney’s face, in which he saw the light of a great illumination was shining. “No, sir,” he repeated; “I was just about to send it by his orders, when he countermanded it and tore up the despatch.” “And what despatch was it?” “It was one signed by the Secretary of War, sir, removing Marston’s Division from Cemetery Hill.” “You hear, gentlemen,” said the General, and, not giving them time to answer, he turned again to Foray. “What were Captain Thorne’s words at the time?” “He said he refused to act under that commission, and crumpled it up and threw it away.”