le which stood in the center of the room sat
the thirteen young officers from whom the victim was to be selected.
Back of them stood the British Major Gordon. A little apart stood Mr.
Owen and Robert Dale with the officer of the dragoons. On the side of
the table opposite the unfortunate thirteen were John Drayton and the
commissary, with two little drummer boys. The scarlet coats of the
British made a pleasing note of color against the buff and blue of the
Continentals.

"That this drawing may be as fair as possible," General Hazen was
saying, "it has been deemed best that the names of the thirteen
officers shall be placed in one hat; in another hat shall be placed
thirteen slips of paper of the same size, all of them blank save one
on which is written the word, 'unfortunate.' These drummer boys are
to draw out the slips simultaneously from the hats. The name drawn at
the same time that the word unfortunate is drawn will be the victim
selected. Gentlemen, I have only to say that no one can regret more
deeply than I the course events have taken. Captain Drayton, will you
and the commissary take the hats?"

Amid a silence so profound that a pin could have been heard to fall
the two officers took the hats, and stood holding them on the table
while the drummer boys began the drawing. Into Peggy's mind darted
Thomas Ashley's words:

"'There shall be retaliation, Hannah. Eye for eye, tooth for tooth,
life for life.'"

She started as though some one had spoken. Retaliation! Was this what
it meant? That another innocent life should be taken? How horrible and
bloody a thing is war! Because some one else hath committed a crime
must another pay the penalty? One, two, three, four, five. Five names
drawn. And Clifford's name not yet. Not yet. Her breath came gaspingly
but strangely quiet as that other room was no one noticed it. Harriet
was clutching her hand so tightly that it ached for hours afterward,
but at the time neither girl knew it.

Six, seven, eight, nine! And still Clifford's name had not been
called. Harriet bent forward as the boy drew the next slip:

"Captain Williams," he read clearly.

And from the other, hitherto so silent, sounded at the same time a
word that fell upon the ear like a knell of doom:

"Unfortunate!"

And then from every American as well as every Englishman present there
broke a sob. That is, from every man except Clifford Owen. He was very
quiet, very composed, but his gaze was turned u