chilled; hear a
will read in the room which you connect with laughter and the genial
routine of everyday events, and the uncanny quiet, falling away from the
single voice, benumbs you. Thus in the mess-room, where music and
laughter and the hubbub of men's talking usually resounded, the unwonted
stillness, broken only by the piercing wail of the _tsa_, struck coldly
and heavily upon the senses.

Count Sagan, his big chest covered with gold-lace and orders, loomed at
the head of the table, Wallenloup and Ulm to his right and left, Adiron,
Unziar, Adolf and Varanheim seated according to their rank. At the foot
of the table in the uniform of the Guard but without a sword stood the
prisoner.

One man present was a complete stranger to Rallywood--Major Ulm, who had
just returned from leave, and whose keen eyes set in a thin shaven face
scrutinised him coldly. Behind Ulm's bald forehead dwelt most of the
sagacity and discretion of the Guard. Strongly as his prejudices were
excited he could not avoid being struck by the bearing of the prisoner.

There was a cold fierceness about the men of the Guard, but Rallywood
stood unmoved under the many hostile eyes.

A court-martial, where the prisoner is condemned, is perhaps the most
awful scene of justice upon earth. This is so because it contains within
itself elements that edge its painfulness. The judges wield not only the
power of death, but the power of putting a man to utter shame. The
prisoners who stand at such a tribunal may be credited with the
capability, given to them by training if not by nature, of feeling
shame. And the capability of suffering shame is as distinct a quality as
the sense of honour.

Count Sagan glared round the table, and the aspect of his colleagues
pleased him; they felt under his rough imagination like a sword whose
temper the fighter is sure of. There was a horrible energy, a furious
relentlessness about his very attitude and ringing in his voice that
drove every word of his accusation into and through his hearers. As
president he put questions to the prisoner, who answered them unmoved.

Rallywood fronted them calm and soldierlike, the picture of a gallant
despair. He felt as though he stood clear of his life. It was lived and
the end in sight. His position was hard, but he seemed to be ready to
say Amen to whatever the fates might send. He had no thought of
struggling for life and love. He was far otherwise. He was one whose
love is hopele