er."

"There are many heroic women in the world," said Colonel Fortescue.

"True," answered Broussard. "My sister-in-law was glad when my brother
enlisted. She said it was a good thing for him, and he undoubtedly did
better at this post than he had done for a long time. And his wife, who
was born and bred to luxury, stood by my brother and tried to save him.
She worked and slaved for him harder than any private's wife I ever saw.
She never uttered a reproach to him. Each day she mounted a Calvary. I
could kiss the hem of that woman's gown, in reverence for her."

"So could I," said Colonel Fortescue.

"Of course," continued Broussard, "I told her and wrote her that neither
she nor her child should ever suffer. I have sent her money--all that
was needed, as I have something besides my pay."

The Colonel, recalling the motors, the oriental rugs, the grand piano,
and other articles _de luxe_, which Broussard had once possessed, thought
Broussard had a trifle too much beside his pay.

"I don't think she has had much use for money since her husband
deserted," said Colonel Fortescue. "She has been constantly ill. My
wife and daughter and the other ladies at the post have done everything
possible for her, and Sergeant McGillicuddy took the boy. McGillicuddy
feels himself responsible for Lawrence running away. He said something
exasperating to Lawrence, who struck him in a fit of rage, and then ran
away."

"So my sister-in-law wrote, or rather Miss Fortescue wrote for her."

"The army is the place for good hearts," said the Colonel, well knowing
what he was talking about.

As Colonel Fortescue spoke, a man was seen, in the fast falling dusk, to
pass the window. The next moment a tap came at the door, and when
Colonel Fortescue answered, the door opened and Lawrence walked in.

The Colonel, who had watched Lawrence closely, saw a subtle change in
him. He held his head up, and his face, always handsome, had lost the
dissipated, reckless look that dissipated and reckless men readily
acquire. His hair and mustache, which a year before had been coal black,
were now quite grey; he seemed another man than he had once been. He
saluted the Colonel, and said quietly:

"I have come, sir, to give myself up--I am the man, John Lawrence, who
struck Sergeant McGillicuddy last January, and deserted."

"You were a great fool," replied the Colonel, "I think it was a clear
case of a fool's panic."

"All I have to say,