The call sounded from the table. Thorne turned to it, bent over it, and listened. It was the call for the message. Then he turned to the woman. She looked at him; just one look. The kind of a look that Christ might have turned upon Peter after those denials when He saw him in the courtyard early on that bitter morning of betrayal. “I saved you,” the girl’s look seemed to say, “I redeemed you and now you betray me!” She spoke no words, words were useless between them. Everything had been said, everything had been done. She could only go. Never woman looked at man nor man looked at woman as these two at each other. The woman turned, she could trust herself no further. She went blindly toward the door. The man followed her slowly, crushing the commission in his hand, and ever as he went he heard the sound of the call behind him. He stopped halfway between the door and the table and watched her go, and then he turned. Lieutenant Foray understanding nothing of what had transpired, but hearing the call, had taken Thorne’s place before the table. He had the despatch about which there had been so much trouble, and upon which the whole plan turned, in his hand before him. “They are calling for that despatch, sir,” he said as Thorne stared at him in agony. “What shall I do with it?” “Send it,” said the other hoarsely. “Very good, sir,” answered Foray, seating himself and taking hold of the key, but the first click of the sounder awakened Thorne to action. “No, no!” he cried. “Stop!” He rushed forward and seized the despatch. “I won’t do it!” he thundered. With his wounded hand and his well one he tore the despatch into fragments. “Revoke the order. Tell them it was a mistake instantly. I refuse to act under this commission!” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ BOOK IV WHAT HAPPENED AT ELEVEN O’CLOCK CHAPTER XVI THE TUMULT IN HUMAN HEARTS Of the many frightful nights in Richmond during the siege, that night was one of the worst. The comparative calmness of the earlier hours of repose of the quiet April evening gave way to pandemonium. The works at Petersburg, desperately held by the Confederates, were miles away from the city to the southward, but such was the tremendous nature of the cannonading that the shocking sounds seemed to be close at hand. Children cowered, women shuddered, and old men prayed as they thought of the furious onslaughts in the battle raging.