may, but listen you shall," was the instant rejoinder. "It
is well known you interfered with a non-commissioned officer in the
proper discharge of his duty. That was last June, and it was in behalf
of that young man Rawdon. It is well known that you were hobnobbing
with other enlisted men here, and gave them drink and food in your
quarters on more than one occasion. It is well known you lent civilian
clothing to your protege for his latest escapade----"

"Colonel Button--gentlemen!" cried Lanier, "this is beyond all right!"
Indeed, Stannard and Sumter were on their feet, in expostulation, but
the colonel's blood was up. Bang went his bell, and the orderly fairly
jumped into the room.

"Call Sergeant Fitzroy," said he, and in another moment Fitzroy stood
before them, a civilian coat and waistcoat hanging on his arm.

"Briefly now, sergeant, where did you get those?" demanded Button.

"From the room that Trooper Rawdon occupied in town, sir. It's the suit
he wore about town last Friday;" and so saying, he held them forth.
Lanier slowly took the coat, astonishment in his eyes; glanced at the
tag inside the collar, bearing the name of his own New York tailor; for
a moment he searched it within and without, then handed it quietly back.

"It is enough like mine to deceive anybody but--the owner," said he.

"Do you mean to tell me----" began Button indignantly.

"That this is not mine?" interposed Lanier. "Yes, sir, and that one very
like it will be found in my closet at home."

"Mr. Barker will go with you, and you will resume your confinement--in
arrest;" and Button, in his anger, was lashing himself to language his
hearers never forgot, and that some could hardly, even long months
after, forgive. "In _my_ time, as a young officer, nothing tempted one
of our members to violate an arrest, but you----"

Pale as death Lanier faced him.

"Surely, sir, a cry for help--that I thought might mean fire----"

"There was _no_ cry for help," interrupted the colonel. "There was no
sign of fire. Even if there had been, it should mean nothing to a man
of honor when ordered in arrest. That is the only creed of a gentleman."

And then, with the lone trumpet of the musician of the guard wailing its
good-night to the garrison--the sweet, solemn strain of "Taps"--the
adjutant led his stunned and silent comrade home.

VIII

Ennis and Schuchardt were still there, and started at sight of Lanier's
white face. Without a word