silently
at the gate of the little brown cottage wherein death had set his seal
during the watches of the night.

It was in the back room of the first floor that the jury had assembled.
There on the narrow bed lay the mortal remains of the officer whose
death-cry had startled the garrison so short a time before. Men and
women had spoken with bated breath, with dread and horror on their
faces, with heavy load at heart,--many had not slept at all,--since the
news flew round the garrison at one o'clock. It was shocking to think of
Mr. Gleason as murdered, but that he should have been murdered in cold
blood, without a word of altercation, and murdered by an officer of his
own regiment,--one so brave, so gifted, so popular as Ray,--was simply
horrible; and yet--who that heard the evidence being given,--slowly,
reluctantly, painfully--before that jury could arrive at any other
conclusion. Even before the jury came sentries with fixed bayonet were
stationed at Ray's bedroom door, and no one was allowed to go in or out
except by order of the commanding officer.

The colonel had not gone to bed since being aroused. The moment the post
surgeon had announced that Gleason was stone dead the body was lifted to
the bed; Lieutenant Warner was placed in charge of the room, with orders
to see that nothing was touched or removed, and the colonel began an
immediate investigation. The sergeant of the guard, who, with one or two
men, had been out searching the rear yards, had handed the colonel on
his arrival a silver-mounted pistol,--Smith & Wesson's, of handsome make
and finish, with every chamber loaded but one. He had picked it up just
by the back gate. On the guard were engraved in monogram the letters W.
P. R., and as the colonel held it up, Private Hogan, who had been
assisting in raising the body to the bed, gave one quick look at it,
exclaimed, "Oh, Holy Mother!" and hurried from the room. He was sternly
called back, and came, white and trembling.

"Do you know that pistol, sir? Whose is it?"

Hogan wrung his hands and looked miserably around.

"Answer at once!"

"It's--it's the lootenant's, sir!"

"What lieutenant?"

"Misther Ray, sir. Oh, God forgive me!" sobbed poor Hogan, and, covering
his face with his hands, he burst into tears.

"Where is Mr. Ray?" demanded the colonel, in a voice that trembled
despite his strong effort at self-control.

"He was here, sir, when I came," said the sergeant of the guard. "He was
k