Edith caught her heart with her hand with a sharp exclamation, but General Randolph had turned to speak to the prisoner.
“Captain Thorne,” he said, “or Lewis Dumont, if that is your name; the President is fully informed regarding the circumstances of your case, and I needn’t say that we look upon you as a cursed dangerous character. There isn’t any doubt whatever that you ought to be shot right now, but, considering the damned peculiarity of your behaviour, and that you refused to send out that despatch when you might have done so, we’ve decided to keep you out of mischief some other way. You will be held a prisoner of war.”
Captain Thorne was almost too dazed to realise the purport of the decree. He mechanically saluted, and from his lips broke a murmured,
“Thank you, sir.”
The General looked at him severely, and then, seeing Edith Varney, turned away and engaged in conversation with his staff. His intention was obvious, and Edith immediately embraced the opportunity.
“Oh!” she said; “that isn’t nearly so bad as death,” and before them all she stretched out her hand to him.
“No?” queried Thorne in a low voice.
“No,” she said, forcing herself to look at him. “After a while perhaps—some time——”
“Oh!” said Thorne. “Some time? If it’s some time, that’s enough.”
Mrs. Varney, having succeeded in getting Howard quiet and composed, had been in the room since the advent of General Randolph.