"Calhoun," he moaned, "see me, see me here at your feet. It is I, not you, who is to be pitied. For the love we bear each other"—at the word "love" Calhoun's lips curled in contempt—"for the sake of those near and dear to us, for the honor of our names, promise, oh, promise me!"
"I tell you I will not promise. See, I spit on you, I despise you, defy you."
"Then you must die," replied Fred, slowly rising to his feet.
Again Calhoun's face grew ashen. "Fred, you will not give me up to be hanged?" he asked, tremulously.
"No, Calhoun, your dishonor would be my dishonor. I cannot keep my oath, and have you hanged as a spy."
"What will you do then?" asked Calhoun.
"I shall shoot you with my own hand."
"Great God, Fred!" gasped Calhoun, shuddering. "You do not, cannot mean that?"
"It is the only way I can keep my oath and still prevent you from carrying the news that would mean destruction to Grant's army."