ask for
pardon----"

"But it isn't--is it, dear?"

"No, we'll fight. John doesn't know the President as I do. We'll never
give up--you and I--Mother!"

Again they were in each other's arms in silence. The older woman held
her close.

And then came the long, hard fight.

The President heard the mother's plea with tender patience and shook his
head sorrowfully.

"I'm sorry, dear Madam," he said at last, "to find this case so
dangerous and difficult. Our army is approaching a battle. Tremendous
issues hang on the results. It looks now as if this battle may end the
war. The enemy have as good right to send their brave scouts and spies
among us to learn our secrets as we have to send ours to learn theirs.
They kill our boys without mercy when captured. I have just asked
Jefferson Davis to spare the life of one of the noblest and bravest men
I have ever known. He was caught in Richmond on a daring errand for his
country. They refused and executed him. How can I face my Secretary of
War with such a pardon in my hands?"

The mother's head drooped lower with each sorrowful word and when the
voice ceased she fell on her knees, with clasped hands and streaming
eyes in a voiceless prayer whose dumb agony found the President's heart
more swiftly and terribly than words.

"O my dear little mother, you mustn't do that!" he protested, seizing
her hands and lifting her to her feet. "You mustn't kneel to me, I'm not
God--I'm just a distracted man praying from hour to hour and day to day
for wisdom to do what's right! I can't stand this--you mustn't do such
things--they kill me!"

He threw his big hands into the air with a gesture of despair, his face
corpse-like in its ashen agony. He took a step from her and leaned
against the long table in the centre of the room for support.

Betty whispered something in the mother's ear and led her near again.

"If you'll just give my boy to me alive," she went on in low anguish,
"I'll take him home and keep him there and I'll pledge my life that he
will never again take up arms against the Union----"

"You can guarantee me that?" he interrupted, holding her gaze.

"I'm sure of it. He's noble, high-spirited, the soul of honor. He was
always good and never gave me an hour's sorrow in his life until this
war came----"

The long arm suddenly swung toward his Secretary:

"Have the prisoner, Ned Vaughan, brought here immediately. When he
comes, Madam, I'll see what can be done."

Wit