"There can be but one tragedy, my boy, that can have no ray of light--and that is that all this blood should have flowed in vain, all these brave men died for nought, that the old curse shall remain, the Union be dismembered into broken sections and on future bloody fields their battles be fought over again----" He paused and drew a deep breath: "This is the fear that's strangling me! For as surely as George B. McClellan is elected President, surrounded by the men who at present control his party, just so surely will the war end in compromise, failure and hopeless tragedy----" "Why do you say that?" John asked sharply. "Because standing here on this very spot, before the battle of Gettysburg I offered him the Presidency if he would preside at a great mass meeting of his party and guarantee to save the Union. I offered to efface myself and give up the dearest ambition of my soul to heal the wounds of my people--and he refused----" "Refused?" John gasped. "Yes." The younger man gazed at the haggard face for a moment through dimmed eyes, sank slowly to a seat and covered his face in his hands in a cry of despair! The reaction was complete and his collapse utter. The President gazed at the bent figure with sorrowful amazement, and touched his head gently with the big friendly hand: "Why, what's the matter, my boy? I'm the only man to despair. You're just a captain in the army. If to be the head of hell is as hard as what I've had to undergo here I could find it in my heart to pity Satan himself. And if there's a man out of hell who suffers more than I do, I pity him. But it's my burden and I try to bear it. I wish I had only yours!" John Vaughan sprang to his feet and threw his hands above his head in a gesture of anguish: "O my God, you don't understand!" He quickly crossed the space that separated them and faced the President with grim determination: "But I'm going to tell you the truth now and you can do what you think's right. In the last fight before Petersburg I killed my brother in a night attack and held his dying body in my arms. I think I must have gone mad that night. Anyhow, when I lay in the hospital recovering from my wounds, I got the letter about my father and made up my mind to kill you----" He paused, but the sombre eyes gave no sign--they seemed to be gazing on the shores of eternity. "And I came here to-night for that purpose--my men are in that hall now!" He stopped and folded his hands deliberately, waiting for his judge to speak. A long silence fell between them. The tall, sorrowful man was looking at him with a curious expression of wonder and self pity. "So you came here to-night to kill me?" "Yes." Again a long silence--the deep eyes looking, looking with their strange questioning gaze. "Well," the younger man burst out at last, "what is my fate? I deserve it. Even generosity and gentleness have their limit. I've passed it. And I've no desire to escape."