stled
with a problem, and it stirred him to the depths. As a trooper must
obey, so also must an officer obey a higher will; yes, even as a slave
in iron manacles. The master of war had made his laws; and a servant
broke them, knowingly. A captured scout was a prisoner, no more; a spy
must hang, or fall before the volley of a firing squad. No matter for
his bravery; no matter for the faithful service to his cause, the man
must die! The glory was for another; for one who waved a flag on the
spine of a bloody trench; a trench which his brothers stormed--and gave
the blood. No matter that a spy had made this triumph possible. He had
worn a uniform which was not his own--and the dog must die!

So ruled the god of warfare; still, did war prescribe disgrace and death
for all? If Cary had crept through the Union lines, to reach the side of
a helpless little one--_yes, even in a coat of blue_--would the Great
Tribunal count his deed accursed? Should fearless human love reap no
reward beyond the crashing epitaph of a firing squad, and the powder
smoke that drifted with the passing of a soul?

"No! No!" breathed Morrison. "In God's name, give the man his chance!"

He straightened his back and smiled. He took from the table a rumpled
paper and turned to the littlest factor in the great Rebellion.

"Here, Virgie! Here's your pass to Richmond--for you and your
escort--through the Federal lines."

She came to him slowly, wondering; her tiny body quivering with
suppressed excitement, her voice a whispering caress:

"Do you mean for--for Daddy, too?"

"Yes, you little rebel!" he answered, choking as he laughed; "but I'm
terribly afraid you'll have to pay me--with a kiss."

She sprang into his waiting arms, and kissed him as he raised her up;
but when he would have set her down, her little brown hands, with their
berry-stained fingers, clung tightly about his neck.

"Wait! Wait!" she cried. "Here's another one--for Gertrude! Tell her
it's from Virgie! An' tell her I sent it, 'cause her daddy is jus' the
best damn Yankee that ever was!"

The trap above had opened, and the head and shoulders of the Southerner
appeared; while Morrison looked up and spoke in parting:

"It's all right, Cary. I only ask a soldier's pledge that you take your
little girl to Richmond--nothing more. In passing through our lines,
whatever you see or hear--_forget_!"

A sacred trust it was, of man to man, one brother to another; and
Morrison knew that