Her eyes flashed quickly from the vindictive yet triumphant fact of Arrelsford, whom she loathed, to the pale, composed, set face of Thorne, whom she loved, and her glance fell upon his wounded left wrist, tied up, the blood oozing through the handkerchief. A wave of sympathy and tenderness filled her breast. He was hurt, suffering—that decided her.
With one brief, voiceless prayer to God for guidance, she turned to General Randolph, and it was well that she spoke when she did, for the pause had become insupportable to Thorne at least. He had made up his mind to relieve the dilemma and confess his guilt so that the girl would not have to reproach herself with a betrayal of her lover or her cause, that she might not feel that she had been found wanting at the crucial moment. Indeed, Thorne would have done this before but his duty as a soldier enjoined upon him the propriety, the imperative necessity, of playing the game to the very end. The battle was not yet over. It would never be over until he faced the firing party.
And then Edith’s voice broke the silence that had become so tense with emotion.
“Mr. Arrelsford is mistaken, General Randolph,” she said quietly, “Captain Thorne has the highest authority in this office.”
Arrelsford started violently and opened his mouth to speak, but General Randolph silenced him with a look. The blood of the old general was up, and it had become impossible for any one to presume in the least degree. Thorne started, too. The blood rushed to his heart. He thought he would choke to death. What did the girl mean?
“The highest authority, sir,” continued Edith Varney, slowly drawing out the commission, which every one but she had forgotten in the excitement, “the authority of the President of the Confederate States of America.”
Well, she had done it for weal or for woe. She had made her decision. Had it been a wise decision? Had she acted for the best? What interest had governed her, love for Thorne, love for her country, or love for her own peace of mind? It was in the hands of General Randolph now. The girl turned slowly away, unable to sustain the burning glances of her lover and the vindictive stare of Arrelsford.
“What’s this?” said General Randolph. “Umph! A Major’s Commission. In command of the Telegraph Department. Major Thorne, I congratulate you.”
“That commission, General Randolph!” exclaimed Arrelsford, his voice rising, “let me explain how she——”
“That will do from you, sir,” said the General, “you have made enough trouble as it is. I suppose you claim that this is a forgery, too——”