. To-morrow he will
be shot."

"Yes, sir," acknowledged Harris. "Unless _you_ intervene."

At this curiously insistent plea for clemency the short, stocky bearded
man who, to so few, had the bearing of a great general, faced Lieutenant
Harris and gave him a look which made the young officer's bravery falter
for a long moment.

"_I?_" said the General, with a searching note in his voice which seemed
to probe coldly and with deadly accuracy among the strenuous emotions in
the young man's mind. "Harris--you are an officer of promise. Don't cut
that promise short." With a flick of his ashes to one side he turned
away. The cigar went back into the corner of his sardonic mouth.

Harris strode forward an impulsive step and threw out his hands.

"It is worth the risk. When a man is condemned to die--"

The General wheeled with more impatience than the Adjutant, Forbes, had
seen him exhibit through many vexatious, worrying months. His voice took
on a rasping note. He tapped the papers on the desk with grim
significance.

"Lieutenant-Colonel Morrison has failed in his military duty. He
released a Rebel spy--proved himself a traitor to his cause."

"A traitor, General?" protested the young officer. "Do you call a man a
traitor who fought as Morrison did a week ago? Who stood his ground till
his whole command was shot to pieces! And then stood alone--defending
his colors in the face of hell let loose!"

The appeal was impassioned, its sincerity and humanity undoubted. Yet it
seemingly only served to make the grim rules of war more unyielding than
ever.

Choosing his words with more than ordinary care, and speaking them in
firm, even tones, the General made his reply.

"No act of bravery can atone for a soldier's lapse from duty." He sat
down at his desk and began to write.

Under ordinary circumstances Lieutenant Harris might have accepted
defeat for there seemed no use in trying to break down that iron will or
touch the heart of this relentless soldier. But this was something more
than an ordinary case and Harris was more than simply Morrison's
counsel--he was his friend. The two had fought together through three
hard campaigns; they had shared food and water and shelter, had slept
together for warmth on sodden fields, had exchanged such confidences as
two officers from the same town in the North but of unequal rank may
exchange under the pressure of war-time emotions. If there was one man
living who knew Morrison's