cruelly. But I think it is because,
just now, of the agony of memory. He loved his regiment.--No. What sense
in blaming where, had there followed success, you would have praised?
Then it would have been proper daring; now--I could say that he had been
wiser to wait, but I do not know that in his place I should have waited.
He was rash, perhaps, but who is there to tell? Had he chosen another
interpretation and delayed, and been mistaken, then, too, commination
would have fallen. No. I blame him less than he blames himself, Judith.
But the fact remains. Even by his own showing there was a doubt. Even
accepting his statement of the order he received, he took it upon
himself to decide."

"They did not accept his statement--"

"No, Judith. They judged that he had received General Jackson's order
and had disobeyed it.--I know--I know! To us it is monstrous. But the
court must judge by the evidence--and the verdict was to be expected. It
was his sole word, and where his own safety was at stake. 'Had not the
dead courier a reputation for reliability, for accuracy?' 'He had, and
he would not lay the blame there, besmirching a brave man's name.'
'Where then?' 'He did not know. It was so that he had received the
order'--Judith, Judith! I have rarely seen truth so helpless as in this
case."

She drew a difficult breath. "No help. And they said--"

"He was pronounced guilty of the first charge. That carried with it the
verdict as to the second--the sacrifice of the regiment. There,
too--guilty. Only the third there was no sustaining. The loss was
fearful, but there were men enough left to clear him from that charge.
He struggled with desperation to retrieve his error, if error it were;
he escaped death himself as by a miracle, and he brought off a remnant
of the command which, in weaker hands, might have been utterly swallowed
up. On that count he is clear. But on the others--guilty, and without
mitigation."

He came back to the woman by the window. "Judith, I would rather put the
sword in my own heart than put it thus in yours. War is a key, child,
that unlocks to all dreadful things, to all mistakes, to every sorrow!"

"I want every worst drop of it," she said. "Afterward I'll look for
comfort. Do not be afraid for me; I feel as strong as the hills, the
air, the sea--anything. What is the sentence?"

"Dismissal from the army."

Judith rose and, with her hands on the window-sill, leaned out into the
night. Her gaze went