would suffer for it, not he.

There was something very attractive, after all, in her possible
martyrdom. The thought gave her not a little comfort. She was surprised
that Sempland had not been immediately summoned to the general's
presence when she had been put under guard. She supposed, however, that
the delay was due to some military technicality, and she imagined that
the next moment would see him called from the room in her presence. And
she would be left alone, most miserably, forlornly alone to face her
fate.

Being a martyr is certainly a fine thing, but the position loses half
its charm unless people know it. To complete her melancholy
satisfaction, he--and he considered himself the martyr, not she!--must
recognize it. If he would only turn and speak to her. This silence,
this immobility, on his part, was unbearable.

She coughed gently and took a step or two across the floor toward him.
He gave no sign that he heard her. How cruel he was! So despotic, so
determined, so masterful! She abominated a masterful man! She coughed
again, and this time a little more emphatically. Still no attention. It
was discouraging!

There was a small mirror upon the wall of the room. Her eye in
accordance with an instinct feminine, fell swiftly upon it. She lifted
her veil to see how far the experiences she had gone through had
affected her most potent talisman.

"Heavens!" she thought, "what a fright!"

To take off her hat was the work of a moment. Her swift, subtle fingers
busied themselves with her rebellious curls. Another glance reassured
her a little. She felt more confident. She coughed again, but as
before, he did not move.

"Mr. Sempland," she said softly at last, in sheer desperation.

He turned on his heel as suddenly as if he had been moved by a spring,
and faced her. He had been longing for a chance to recede from his
position.

"Miss Glen," he answered with depressing coldness.

"You--you--don't--seem very glad--to see me, sir."

The moment was one of great importance to both of them; their future,
the life and happiness of one, the honor and good name of the other,
depended upon it--so they thought at least. The conversation
accordingly began, as conversations under such circumstances usually
begin, in trivialities.

"I am not," he answered shortly and mendaciously as well.

"I suppose not. I noticed that you--your welcome--wasn't very cordial,
I am sure."

"I didn't mean it to be."

"Why didn't