The tea stood untasted before him. He had not even taken his seat. Pale to his lips, and with hands that trembled almost as did her own, Sandy stood facing his mother, and Priscilla stepped quietly from the room.
"Did he say who found it—and where?" he asked.
"He finally said it was—picked up at Major Dwight's," was her answer, and imploringly still the blue eyes searched his face, and for an instant lighted with hope.
"But I never set foot at Major Dwight's—I've never been inside his gates since I called there with you. The nearest I've been was the front gate, and then, this couldn't have been with me."
"Why, Sandy?"
"Because it was in the breast pocket of my khaki—the thing I wore when we said good-night; but it seemed to grow chilly—or I did. I changed to the blue coat before going out at twelve. Lucky, too, for I had to go out front and help with some poor devils brought in from Skid's. I saw your light when coming home over the parade and wondered if the row had kept you awake."
"You—came in the front way, Sandy?" And the blue eyes seemed to implore him to stop, to reflect, to remember.
"Why, certainly, mother. I was afraid you'd hear me trying the front door or hobbling round on the planks. What brought——Why, mother!"
With her heart almost stilled, with her hands on her breast, with a blanched face and stricken eyes, Marion slowly found her feet, then rested one hand upon the table before she could steady herself to speak:
"Sandy, think! Do you mean you were not—there when the sentry No. 4 called; that you did not come hurrying home and stop there—at the back gate?"