"No," answered the man, sighing deeply, "and life is so different to me now. I didn't care an hour ago what happened, but now—"
There was a tap on the door.
"What is it?" he called out impatiently.
"It's me, Lieutenant Sempland—Sergeant Slattery," answered the sergeant of the guard, a whilom friend to the prisoner. "On me own account, sor, I come to tell ye that they'll be afther comin' for ye in a few minutes, an' ye'd better git ready fer 'em. If ye have anythin'—any preparations to make, ye'd better be quick about it, sor."
"Thank you," answered Sempland. "You hear, dearest? You must go. I must have a moment to myself to enable me to face this court-martial. Leave me now, I beg of you. Go home. After it is over I shall ask permission of the general to have you visit me."
"I cannot go," said Fanny Glen, archly.
"Why not?"
"I am a prisoner."
"A prisoner! What for?"
"For treachery, disobedience of orders, oh, everything!" she answered glibly.