lieve that it was
possible to regenerate a man's soul. Most prisoners are a trifle too
ready to accept the theory of the forgiveness of sins. Not so Lawrence.
Often, he had paroxysms of despair, accusing himself wildly and doubting
whether the good God could forgive so evil a sinner as he. Sometimes, he
would refuse to see his wife, declaring he was not fit for her to speak
to; again, he would weep and ask for a sight of his child, now far away
and in good hands. All these things, and more, the chaplain knew, from
long experience, meant that Lawrence's soul was struggling toward the
light. Regularly Broussard went to see him at the prison and the two
men, the high-minded officer and the disgraced private, were drawn
together by the secret bond between them. Often, they talked in whispers
of their dead mother and Broussard would say to Lawrence:

"Our mother's spirit and your wife's love ought to save you."

Another visitor Lawrence had was Sergeant McGillicuddy. The Sergeant's
merciful soul could not accept the chaplain's theory that the blow
provoked by McGillicuddy had been Lawrence's salvation.

"I never knew a man who was helped by being a deserter, sir," was the
Sergeant's answer to the chaplain's kindly sophism, "but Lawrence is a
penitent man--that I see with my own eyes. I don't need no chaplain to
tell me that, sir."

Meanwhile, Broussard kept up a steady courtship of Colonel Fortescue.
Whatever views the Colonel advanced, Broussard promptly endorsed. He
gave up cock fighting, motors, superfluous clothes and high-priced
horses, and, if his word could be taken for it, he had adopted Spartan
tastes and meant to stick to them. Colonel Fortescue rated Broussard's
newly-acquired taste for the simple life at its true value, and was
sometimes a trifle sardonic over it.

"I wish," said Colonel Fortescue savagely one night in his office, where
he always smoked his last cigar, Mrs. Fortescue sitting by, "I wish
Broussard would let up a little in his attention to me. I know exactly
what it means and it is getting to be an awful nuisance."

"Cheer up," answered Mrs. Fortescue encouragingly, "he'll let up on his
devotion to you as soon as he marries Anita--for I have seen ever since
the night of the music ride that Anita has a secret preference for him,
and it's very natural--Broussard is an attractive man."

"Can't see it," growled the Colonel.

"If you would just limber up a little and not be so stiff w