isonment for a term of years, the criminal's mental
weakness being the plea. But he considered the prisoner his especial
charge, and never lost sight of him. Such solace and instruction as
Croom was capable of receiving were constantly given, if not by the
priest himself, then by his influence; and this protection was continued
long after the wise, kind old man had passed away.

Jeanne-Armande returned from Europe, and entered into happy possession
of the half-house, as it stood, refurnished by the lavish hand of
Gregory Dexter.

And Dexter? During the last year of the war he went down to the front,
on business connected with a proposed exchange of prisoners. Here,
unexpectedly, one day he came upon Ward Heathcote, now in command of a
regiment.

Colonel Heathcote was not especially known beyond his own division; in
it, he was considered a good officer, cool, determined, and if
distinguished at all, distinguished for rigidly obeying his orders,
whatever they might be. It was related of him that once having been
ordered to take his men up Little Reedy Run, when Big Reedy was plainly
meant--Little Reedy, as everybody knew, being within the lines of the
enemy, he calmly went up Little Reedy with his regiment. The enemy,
startled by the sudden appearance of seven hundred men among their seven
thousand, supposed of course that seventy thousand must be behind, and
retreated in haste, a mile or two, before they discovered their error.
The seven hundred, meanwhile, being wildly recalled by a dozen
messengers, came back, with much camp equipage and other booty, together
with a few shot in their bodies, sent by the returning and indignant
Confederates, one of the balls being in the shoulder of the calm colonel
himself.

When Dexter came upon Heathcote, a flush rose in his face. He did not
hesitate, however, but walked directly up to the soldier. "Will you step
aside with me a moment?" he said. "I want to speak to you."

Heathcote, too, had recognized his former companion at a glance. The
two men walked together beyond earshot; then they paused.

But Dexter's fluency had deserted him. "You know?" he said.

"Yes."

"It does not make it any better, I fear, to say that my belief was an
honest one."

"You were not alone; there were others who thought as you did. I care
little about it now."

"Still, I--I wish to beg your pardon," said Dexter, bringing out the
words with an effort. Then, having accomplished his task, he pau