kness of the bay. There was no moon, and
the night was dark. There was no light save from the stars. The torpedo
boat slipped through the water without making a sound. She became
entirely invisible a hundred feet away. The officers rubbed their eyes
as they stared in the direction where they had last seen her, almost
fearing that she had again sunk beneath the sea. They stayed there
perhaps five minutes, at least until the blockade-runners, none of them
showing a light of any description, could get under way in obedience to
a lantern signal from the general and noiselessly slip down the bay in
the wake of the frail little craft which it was hoped would be able to
clear the path for them.

"Now," said Beauregard, turning away at last, "for Mr. Sempland. I do
not understand it. I never thought him a coward."

"Nor am I, sir!" panted a voice out of the darkness, as a pale and
breathless man burst through the group surrounding the general.

"Mr. Sempland!"

"For God's sake, sir, am I in time? The boat?"

"Gone."

"How long? Call her back!"

"It is too late. She has been gone ten minutes. Where were you, sir?"

"Who took her out?"

"Major Lacy. Answer my question, sir!"

"He! My God! I am disgraced! Dishonored! And she--"

"Where were you, sir?"

"I--I--"

The young man hesitated.

"Why don't you answer? Do you realize your position? You begged this
detail. Why were you not here?"

"Oh, General Beauregard--"

"How could you forget your honor, the South? Where were you, I say?
Answer, or I will have you shot in the morning!"

"I--I--was detained, sir. I--"

"Is that your only excuse, sir?" sternly.

Sempland was in a fearful predicament. To have restrained him by force
was an act of high treason. He could only explain himself by
implicating the woman he loved. The consequences in either case were
dreadful. Fanny Glen a traitor to the South? Beauregard was a stern,
inexorable soldier. He would not condone such an offence as hers. That
she had failed in her effort to prevent the expedition would mean
nothing to the general. Fanny Glen, the pride of Charleston, the woman
who had done more for the South than any other woman in the Carolinas,
perhaps, to be disgraced, certainly to be punished, it might be--shot!

She had ruined him, but he had kissed her. He could not say the word
which would incriminate her and leave him free. He was disgraced
already, he would be cashiered. Well, what mattered it? His