"Wolf," said Ray, "have you written any letters to Mrs. Truscott since the one you left in her yard last week?" The question reads harshly. It was spoken calmly, without a vestige of menace or sneer; yet the soldier's hands clinched, as though in fierce convulsion. His forehead seemed to wrinkle into one mass of corrugations; he bowed his ghastly face in an agony of shame.
"I ask in no anger. Let me tell you briefly what has happened. I have no word to add to the reproach you feel. That letter fell into the hands of a scoundrel. He took it to Mrs. Truscott this day, and threatened her with full exposure; accused her, in fact, of corresponding with you because you mentioned other letters."
"Oh, my God! my God! Kill me, Herr Lieutenant, kill me!" was the soldier's gasping cry, and before Ray could do aught to stay him he had plunged forward on his face, and lay writhing on the painted floor, tearing wildly at his hair, calling down curses on himself, on his mad love, on the hand that penned the fatal letter, on the hound who had carried it to that innocent,—that angel. Then on his knees, with outstretched arms, he looked up at Ray, who stood utterly astounded at his paroxysm of misery and despair. "His name, lieutenant. I implore,—I demand. I demand his name! Sir, I am not unworthy to ask it. I was a gentleman in my country. I am a gentleman! How know you this? Where is he that has done this so foul wrong?"
"Far away by this time. Be calm now. I want the truth in this matter."
"Far away?" He sprang to his feet. "It is that devil; it is that dog Gleason! He spied upon me. It was he who found the letter. Ach Gott! Where—when did he dare threaten that—that angel? Where is the letter?"
"The letter is all right. He had to give it up. It was this morning he threatened her, and she is prostrate now."
For all answer he burst into a mad passion of tears. Never had Ray witnessed such self-abasement. Never had he seen such awful remorse. It was an hour, nearly, before he could calm him sufficiently to extract from him his story, and it amounted practically to this:
He had killed an opponent in a duel over cards in Dresden. There was nothing for it but to leave instantly and to seek safety in America. His rank was that of rittmeister in the hussars, and he had nothing to do but enlist in the cavalry. He was penniless and starving when he reached Truscott's quarters, and her face, bending over him as he rallied from his swoon, had haunted him day and night with its beauty, its sympathy and tenderness. She became the idol, the goddess of his life; he watched her day and night in his mad infatuation; he dreamed of her as his own; he wrote letter after letter to her as the sole means of giving vent to the wild, passionate love which had turned his brain; he destroyed them one after another; he never by word, or look, or deed, so far as he knew, let her see aught of his hopeless love. He never thought to let one of these letters fall from his hands. Yet, whenever he was alone he wrote. He had sung under her window because in his country everybody sang and played, and it was no unusual attention for any gentleman to pay the compliment of a personal serenade. Still he had avoided, as he thought, all recognition until the night he found Gleason creeping upon him. At mention of that name his paroxysms broke forth afresh. Never, never could he forgive himself for the fearful misery he had caused her. Never, never would he forgive the hound who had so basely dealt with her. "He shall wipe out his foul crime in his heart's blood," he swore, and Ray had to order silence. He gave Ray his word that never again would he be tempted to write a line; he implored him to ask for him her forgiveness. Never again would he cross her path. His grief broke forth afresh every few moments, and he was weak as a child. Ray became really alarmed about him, and going into the dining-room where he and Blake were accustomed to take their bachelor sustenance, he rummaged around in the dark for some brandy. Of late he had given up all use of stimulants, and Blake was down at the store. It was some minutes before he found the decanter, but when he returned the room was empty. Wolf had gone.
The next morning there was a ripple of excitement at the adjutant's office. A horse was missing from the band stables, and a musician from the band barracks. At retreat that evening it was definitely settled that Sergeant Wolf had deserted.