-gratified to hear of this. And now
it has occurred to me that Captain Moreland might be able to throw some
light on the very--unpleasant matter which we had to bring to your
attention a few weeks since. Surely he must know something of
these--er--people who were your accusers."

The General was seated at his big desk. He was flanked by the
adjutant-general and backed by a brace of aides. Moreland, the mariner,
was standing at the table and started forward as Loring entered as
though to grasp his hand. The General still considered it essential to
observe a certain air of formality in speaking. It was as though he had
begun to believe Loring an injured man, and therefore he himself must be
an aggrieved one, for surely the lieutenant should have spared the
General the mortification of being placed in the wrong.

But to this tentative remark Mr. Loring made no reply. He stood calmly
before the department commander, looked straight into his face, but did
not open his lips.

"I say," repeated the General, in louder tone, "the captain appears to
know and may be able to tell us something about the people who were your
accusers."

"Possibly, sir," said Loring, finding that he was expected to say
something, but with an indifference of manner most culpable in one so
far inferior in rank.

"I was in hopes, Mr. Loring," said the General, evidently nettled,
"that you would appreciate the evident desire of myself and my
confidential officers to see you relieved of these--er--aspersions. For
that reason I urged Captain Moreland to make his statement public."

And still looking straight at the department commander, whose florid
face was turning purple, Loring was silent. Perhaps after a month of
accusation, real or implied, on part of the General and the
"confidential officers," he found it difficult to account for the sudden
manifestation of desire to acquit. He was thinking, too, of a
tear-stained little letter that had come to him only a few days
earlier--the last from Pancha, before the child was formally entered at
the school of the good gray sisters. He was wondering if she at sixteen
were really more alone in her little world than he in the broad and
liberal sphere of soldier life. Then the sight of Moreland's
weather-beaten face, perturbed and aggrieved, gave him a sense of
sympathy that through all the weeks of his virtual ostracism had been
lacking. He had other letters, too, worth far more than a dollar
apiece, which