“It’s me, Virgie!” the child cried, leaping up and down on the wall, all forgetful of her sore foot.  “Come help Daddy and me—­come quick!”

“Well—­what on earth—­”

Morrison threw out a command to his men and, wheeling his horse, spurred vigorously up to the wall where he dismounted and came up to take a closer view of the tangle haired little person dancing on one foot.

“Why—­bless my soul if it isn’t Virgie!” His arms opened to take her in when, suddenly, his eye fell on O’Connell, standing at attention on the other side of the wall.

“O’Connell,” he said, sternly, “what is the meaning of this?  Why aren’t you with your detachment?”

“It isn’t his fault,” Virgie interposed in stout defense of the nice Yankee who carried biscuits in his knapsack.  “He’s under orders.”

The glib use of the military term made a smile flicker across Morrison’s face, but his eyes did not leave the troubled trooper.

“Whose orders?” he demanded.

“Corporal Dudley, sir,” was the stammering answer.

At this moment Cary stepped forward and the two officers exchanged nods of recognition.

“Let me explain,” the Confederate said.  “Virgie and I were making for Richmond as rapidly as we could.  Here, by this spring, we were put under arrest by a corporal and four troopers.  Naturally, I presented your pass, but the corporal refused to honor it.  He then left me under guard and hurried off to headquarters with the pass in his possession.”

At this unwelcome news Morrison’s head jerked back as if he had been struck and his lips tightened.  Without the addition of another word to Cary’s story he saw all the dire consequences to himself of what had been an act of the commonest humanity.  Yes, in other times it would have been what any right thinking human being would have done for another in distress, but, unhappily, this was war time and the best of motives were only too often mis-read.  In his mind’s eye he saw the vindictive Dudley, eager for a revenge which he could not encompass any other way, laying the proof of this act before his superiors with an abundance of collateral evidence which, he knew, would condemn him before any military tribunal in the world.  It mattered not what kindly impulses had guided his hand when he wrote the safeguard on the other side of the paper on which Robert E. Lee had previously placed his name, for it is not the custom of courts martial to weigh the milk of human kindness against the blood and iron of war.  The good and the safety of the greater number demand the sacrifice of every man who would imperil the cause by ill considered generosity.  Morrison could see that very presently he would have to answer certain stern questions.

Yet, there was a chance still that Dudley might be headed off and this whole miserable business stopped before revenge could set the inexorable wheels in motion and he whirled round on O’Connell with a sharp question: