hy
I should be the last man alive to add a syllable of corroboration to the
evil things that were said of Dinwiddie. I myself have been a soldier
and am a civilian. You may guess that a man whose career has been active
would not be living the petty life of a hermit if fortune had dealt
kindly with him. The officer who has suffered from a warrantless
disgrace--which he cannot disprove--is hardly the judge to condemn
another similarly charged.

"That, sir, is one reason why I should not contradict your view."

McCalloway rose slowly from his chair and, after standing for a moment
with shoulders that drooped from their military erectness, went with an
inelastic step to the corner of the room and came back, carrying a
sword.

"There is also another reason based on personal partiality," he added.
"I knew him so well that after the world heard of his suicide--and after
my own misfortunes forced me into retirement, I might often have hired
my sword because of my familiarity with his military thought."

Boone Wellver saw the throat work spasmodically, and wondered what it
all meant as the carefully schooled words went on again, with a gauged
steadiness.

"I have admired your own record, General Prince. I owe you frankness,
but I have chapters in my life which I cannot confide to you.
Nevertheless, I am glad we have met. Look at that blade." He held out
the sword. In the leap and flicker of the firelight Boone could catch
the glint of a hilt that sent out the sparkle of jewelry and inlaid
enamel. Slowly General Prince slid the sabre from the scabbard, and bent
forward, studying an inscription upon the damascened steel itself. For a
moment he held it reverently before him, then straightened up and his
voice trembled with a note of mystified wonderment.

"But this--" he said incredulously, "this is Dinwiddie's
sabre--presented by--"

McCalloway smiled stiffly, but he held up a hand as if entreating
silence.

"It _is_ his sword," he answered, but dully and without ardour, "and, if
it means anything to you--he knew the facts of my own life, both the
open and the hidden--and he trusted me enough to leave that blade in my
keeping."

"To me, you required no recommendation, sir," said Basil Prince slowly.
"If you _had_ needed it, this would be sufficient. You had the
confidence, even the love it seems, of the greatest military genius of
our age."

On the following morning, Boone made his farewells, reluctantly as one
who