"No, I refused. Then he called out to the slaves to open at once or he would kill me, their mistress."
"What happened then?"
"I ordered them not to open the door, to let me die. But they did as he said. He made them leave the hall. They obeyed him in spite of my protests. Then he threw me aside, and ran to the wharf. I followed after. The rest you know. It was useless after all. I thought no one would go if he did not. I thought if I could detain him a night—get some delay—I would come here in the morning and tell you the truth and ask you to spare my father."
"Miss Glen," said the little general, "I would not spare my own father if my duty demanded that he be sacrificed."
"I suppose so. You are a man, you cannot understand. I am a woman. There were but two I loved on earth. I was ashamed of my father, but I loved him. Four years of war have taught me other things. I am sorry that he did not go with the South, but it is not for me to judge him. I could not see him condemned to death and not raise a hand to save him. And I discovered too late that I—I—cared for Mr. Sempland. I drove him from me in scorn and contempt—I taunted him. He sought that detail to prove his courage, I could not let him go to certain death. If he did it would be my fault, I would have murdered him. Pity me! I am only a woman. Try to understand!"
"But the young man has proven his courage—"
"I know, I know! I never doubted it," she interrupted.
"By keeping silent this morning, by facing certain death upon charges that are worse than the punishment to a soldier, in that they blast his fame," said the general.
"Thank God for that kindness to me!"
"And he did all this for you."