Barriscale looked up at him with incredulous eyes. He could not understand it. Why had not McCormack taken advantage of so rich an opportunity, so just an occasion, to even up a score that had been running lopsided for years? “Yes. He doesn’t want you court-martialed. I’m not particularly eager for it myself. We’ve had enough of court-martialing in Company E for the present. So I decided to call you before me instead for admonition and punishment under the Army Regulations.” “But, Captain, mine was a court-martial offense, not a case for a summary court. I’m not asking for any clemency. I’m guilty, and I’m ready to take my medicine.” “And I mean to give it to you. But I don’t quite understand your attitude. I supposed you’d put up a fight. What’s come over you?” “I don’t know, Captain Murray. I experienced a sort of change of heart that Sunday morning. I looked around me, and realized what McCormack had done; that our plant was saved, that the flag was still flying, that the mob had been dispersed, and that through it all I had been neither a patriot, a soldier nor a gentleman; but simply an unmitigated fool. I think that was the end of one phase of my life, and the beginning of another. Now I want to start right, and starting right means adequate punishment for misdeeds.” “I see. That’s splendid! That’s the right way to look at it. I congratulate you!” The captain’s hand moved across the counterpane, found Ben’s, grasped it and held fast to it. “But there’ll be no court-martial. That’s settled. And as for the punishment, I had thought to reduce you to the ranks. It’s the most I could do, anyway. But, in your present state of mind, I--I think I’d rather have you on the right of the line. So I’ll just order you back to your post.” Barriscale sprang to his feet, his cheeks glowing and his eyes wide with apprehension. Again it was the old fire of impetuosity that broke out in him. “I protest!” he exclaimed. “That wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be fair to McCormack, nor just to the boys in the company. If I were to obey such an order I’d do it at the loss of every vestige of self-respect. Captain, don’t do that, I beg of you! At least reduce me to the ranks.” Captain Murray, looking searchingly into his first sergeant’s face, saw that he was both sincere and determined. “Very well,” he said; “back to the ranks you go.” As Barriscale turned to leave the captain’s room Miss Anderson entered it. Her eyes were solemn but tearless, as befits the eyes of those who have just witnessed the passing of a soul. “General Chick,” she said, “is dead.” He had died in the full belief that the great ambition of his life had been fulfilled, that he was a soldier of the Guard, and that, in the embarkation for the great war, he had not been left behind. And so his death came joyfully. He had, indeed, gone “across the sea,” not to fight under any earthly flag, but to march and sing forever under the stainless banner of the Lord of Hosts.