"Where were you, sir?"
"I—I—"
The young man hesitated.
"Why don't you answer? Do you realize your position? You begged this detail. Why were you not here?"
"Oh, General Beauregard—"
"How could you forget your honor, the South? Where were you, I say? Answer, or I will have you shot in the morning!"
"I—I—was detained, sir. I—"
"Is that your only excuse, sir?" sternly.
Sempland was in a fearful predicament. To have restrained him by force was an act of high treason. He could only explain himself by implicating the woman he loved. The consequences in either case were dreadful. Fanny Glen a traitor to the South? Beauregard was a stern, inexorable soldier. He would not condone such an offence as hers. That she had failed in her effort to prevent the expedition would mean nothing to the general. Fanny Glen, the pride of Charleston, the woman who had done more for the South than any other woman in the Carolinas, perhaps, to be disgraced, certainly to be punished, it might be—shot!
She had ruined him, but he had kissed her. He could not say the word which would incriminate her and leave him free. He was disgraced already, he would be cashiered. Well, what mattered it? His chance was gone, the woman did not love him. His heart was hot against her. Yet he remembered the scene in the strong room—had she indeed returned his kiss? He closed his lips firmly and said nothing. He would not, he could not betray her, even to himself.