mazement.

"I will go with you," he said. "I must get leave to see him, but you had
better not speak of Peter to any one."

Josiah was already somewhat indisposed to tell to others the story of the
North Anna incident, and walked on in silence over the snow until at the
provost-marshal's quarters Rivers dismissed him.

In a brief talk with the provost-marshal, Rivers learned that there had
been a hastily summoned court-martial, and in the presence of very clear
evidence a verdict approved by General Grant. The man would be shot at
seven the next morning. "A hopeless case, Mr. Rivers," said the Provost,
"any appeal for reprieve will be useless--utterly useless--there will be
no time given for appeal to Mr. Lincoln. We have had too much of this
lately."

Rivers said nothing of his acquaintance with the condemned man. He too
had reached the conviction, now made more definite, that needless pain
for the old mother could be avoided by letting Peter die with the name he
had assumed.

It was after twelve at night when the provost's pass admitted him to a
small wooden prison. One candle dimly lighted the hut, where a manacled
man crouched by a failing fire. The soldier on guard passed out as the
clergyman entered. When the door closed behind him, Rivers said, "Peter."

"My God! Mr. Rivers. They say I'll be shot. You won't let them shoot
me--they can't do it--I don't want to die."

"I came here because Josiah recognized you and brought me."

"He must have told on me."

"Told what? He did not tell anything. Now listen to me. You are certain
to be shot at seven to-morrow morning. I have asked for delay--none will
be given. I come only to entreat you to make your peace with God--to tell
you that you have but these few hours in which to repent. Let me pray
with you--for you. There is nothing else I can do for you; I have tried
and failed. Indeed I tried most earnestly."

"You can help if you will! You were always against me. You can telegraph
Colonel Penhallow. He will answer--he won't let them shoot me."

Rivers who stood over the crouched figure laid a hand on his shoulder.
"If he were here he could do nothing. And even if I did telegraph him, he
is in no condition to answer. He was wounded at Gettysburg and his mind
is clouded. It would only trouble him and your mother, and not help you.
Your mother would hear, and you should at least have the manliness to
accept in silence what you have earned."

"But it's my life-