There was a tense silence. She said to herself that this was no time or place for finical delicacy. A man's life, his honor, all he held dear, were in jeopardy, and it had fallen to her to say words that must needs affect the result. She answered steadily. "My reply to Captain Baynell was not actuated by any objections to him. I know nothing of him but what is greatly to his credit." She hesitated for a moment. She had grown very white, and her eyes glittered, but her voice was still firm as she went on:---- "There is no reason why I should not speak freely under these circumstances, for every one knows--every one who is cognizant of our family affairs--that my married life was extremely wretched. I was very unhappy, and I told Captain Baynell that I would never marry again." Dead silence reigned for a moment. They had all heard the story of her hard fate. The discussion as to whether a chair had been merely broken over her head, or she had been dragged about her home one woful midnight by the masses of her beautiful hair, was insistently suggested as the sunlight lay athwart it now, and the breeze moved its tendrils caressingly. The eyes of the court-martial looked at the judge-advocate with fiery reproach, and the heart of the court-martial beat for her for the moment with chivalric partisanship. For the first time Baynell seemed to lose his composure. His face was scarlet, his hands trembled. He was biting his under lip violently in an effort at self-control; he was experiencing an agony of sympathy and regret that this should be forced upon her, of helpless fury that he could be of no avail. Still once more the president cleared his throat, this time peremptorily. The judge-advocate, considerably out of countenance, hastily forestalled him, that he might justify his course by bringing out the point he desired to elicit, reading his question aloud for its submission to the court, though her last reply had rendered his clincher of little force. "Did you say to Captain Baynell that you have no intention of marrying again merely as a subterfuge--to soften the blow, because you expect to marry Lieutenant Roscoe as soon as the war is over?" His suspicion that Baynell had been accessory to the concealment of young Roscoe so long as he did not fear him as a rival was evident. Baynell turned suddenly and stared with startled eyes in which an amazed dismay contended with futile anger that this,--such a motive--such a course of action, could be attributed to him. She replied only to the obvious question, evidently not realizing the implication. The tension was over; her color had returned; her voice was casual. "No. I have no thought of marrying Lieutenant Roscoe." "Has he asked you to marry him?" "Long ago,--when he was a mere boy." "And again since your widowhood?" "No." "You have seen him since?" "Only that morning when he rushed past me in the hall," she replied, not apprehending the trend of his questions.