"It was not Mr. Jerrold," he answered, coldly. "He is unhurt, so far as shot is concerned."
"Then how is he hurt? Is he hurt at all?" she persisted; and then as she met his gaze her eyes fell, and the burning blush of maiden shame surged up to her forehead. She sank upon a seat and covered her face with her hands.
"I thought of Mr. Jerrold, naturally. He said he would be over early this morning," was all she could find to say.
"I have seen him, and presume he will come. To all appearances, he is the last man to suffer from last night's affair," he went on, relentlessly,—almost brutally,—but she never winced. "It is odd you did not hear the shots. I thought yours was the northwest room,—this one?" he indicated, pointing overhead.
"So it is, and I slept there all last night and heard nothing,—not a thing. Do tell me what the trouble was."
Then what was there for him to say? The colonel's footsteps were heard upon the stair, and the colonel, with extended hand and beaming face and cheery welcome, came forth from the open door-way:
"Welcome, Chester! I'm glad you've come just in time for breakfast. Mrs. Maynard won't be down. She slept badly last night, and is sleeping now. What was the firing last night? I did not hear it at the time, but the orderly and old Maria the cook were discussing it as I was shaving."
"It is that I came to see you about, colonel. I am the man to hold responsible."
"No prisoners got away, I hope?"
"No, sir. Nothing, I fear, that would seem to justify my action. I ordered Number Five to fire."