sympathizers; but the whole bearing of that young man was fiercely repellent of sympathy; he would have none of it.  “Hayne’s position,” said Major Waldron, “is practically this:  he holds that no man who has borne himself as he has during these five years—­denied himself everything that he might make up every cent that was lost, though he was in no wise responsible for the loss—­could by any possibility have been guilty of the charges on which he was tried.  From this he will not abate one jot or tittle; and he refuses now to restore to his friendship the men who repudiated him in his years of trouble, except on their profession of faith in his entire innocence.”  Now, this was something the cavalry could not do without some impeachment of the evidence which was heaped up against the poor fellow at the time of the trial; and it was something the infantry would not do, because thereby they would virtually pronounce one at least of their own officers to have repeatedly and persistently given false testimony.  In the case of Waldron and the cavalry, however, it was possible for Hayne to return their calls of courtesy, because they, having never “sent him to Coventry,” received him precisely as they would receive any other officer.  With the Riflers it was different:  having once “cut” him as though by unanimous accord, and having taught the young officers joining year after year to regard him as a criminal, they could be restored to Mr. Hayne’s friendship, as has been said before, only “on confession of error.”  Buxton and two or three of his stamp called or left their cards on Mr. Hayne because their colonel had so done; but precisely as the ceremony was performed, just so was it returned.  Buxton was red with wrath over what he termed Hayne’s conceited and supercilious manner when returning his call:  “I called upon him like a gentleman, by thunder, just to let him understand I wanted to help him out of the mire, and told him if there was anything I could do for him that a gentleman could do, not to hesitate about letting me know; and when he came to my house to-day, damned if he didn’t patronize me!—­talked to me about the Plevna siege, and wanted to discuss Gourko and the Balkans or some other fool thing:  what in thunder have I to do with campaigns in Turkey?—­and I thought he meant those nigger soldiers the British have in India,—­Goorkhas, I know now,—­and I did tell him it was an awful blunder, that only a Russian would make, to take those Sepoy fellows and put ’em into a winter campaign.  Of course I hadn’t been booking up the subject, and he had, and sprung it on me; and then, by gad, as he was going, he said he had books and maps he would lend me, and if there was anything he could do for me that a gentleman could do, not to hesitate about asking.  Damn his impudence!”