ked like a
workshop. Papers covered the tables and others were lying on the floor,
indicating the office of a man who worked. The Secretary himself was
standing in the darkest corner--a thin, dark, rather small man of about
forty, one who seemed to be of a nervous temperament ruled by a strong
will.

Prescott remembered afterward that throughout the interview the
Secretary remained in the shadow and he was never once able to gain a
clear view of his face. He found soon that Mr. Sefton, a remarkable man
in all respects, habitually wore a mask, of which the mere shadow in a
room was the least part.

Prescott gave his report, and the Secretary, after reading it
attentively, said in a singularly soft voice:

"I have heard of you, Captain Prescott. I believe that you distinguished
yourself in the great charge at Gettysburg?"

"Not more than five thousand others."

"At least you came out of the charge alive, and certainly five thousand
did not do that."

Prescott looked at him suspiciously. Did he mean to cast some slur upon
his conduct? He was sorry he could not see the Secretary's face more
clearly, and he was anxious also to be gone. But the great man seemed to
have another object in view.

"I hear that there is much discontent among the soldiers," said Mr.
Sefton in a gentle, sympathetic voice. "They complain that we should
send them supplies and reinforcements, do they not?"

"I believe I have heard such things said," reluctantly admitted
Prescott.

"Then I have not been misinformed. This illustrates, Captain, the lack
of serious reflection among the soldiers. A soldier feels hungry. He
wants a beefsteak, soft bread and a pot of coffee. He does not see them
and at once he is angry. He waves his hand and says: 'Why are they not
here for me?' The Government does not own the secret of Arabian magic.
We cannot create something where nothing is."

Prescott felt the Secretary gazing at him as if he alone were to blame
for this state of affairs. Then the door opened suddenly and several men
entered. One, tall, thin and severe of countenance, the typical Southern
gentleman of the old school, Prescott recognized at once as the
President of the Confederacy. The others he inferred were members of his
Cabinet, and he rose respectfully, imitating the example of Mr. Sefton,
but he did not fail to notice that the men seemed to be disturbed.

"A messenger from General Lee, Mr. President," said Mr. Sefton, in his
smooth vo