“Certainly, sir.”
“And what are you going to do with him?”
“There is no time for a hanging now, and the court has ordered him shot.”
“Oh, indeed. And what were the charges?”
“Conspiracy against our government and the success of our arms, by sending a false and misleading despatch containing forged orders, was the particular specification.”
“Well,” said General Randolph, “I regret to say that the court has been misinformed.”
“What!” cried Arrelsford, in great surprise. “The testimony was very plain.”
“Yes, indeed, sir,” interposed the Sergeant.
“Nevertheless,” returned the General, “the man is not guilty of that charge. The despatch was not sent.”
Now Edith Varney had scarcely moved. She had expected nothing, she had hoped for nothing, from the advent of the General. At best it would mean only a little delay. The verdict was just, the sentence was adequate, and the punishment must and would be carried out. She had listened, scarcely apprehending, busy with her own thoughts, her eyes fastened on Thorne, who stood there so pale and composed. But at this remarkable statement by General Randolph she was suddenly quickened into life. A low exclamation broke from her lips. A hope, not that his life might be saved, but that it might be less shameful to love him, came into her heart. Wilfred stepped forward also.