"Liar! Liar! General Luxton, upon my honour, either my brother and this man are under some hallucination or they have entered into a conspiracy against me. Before God Almighty I swear that I only left my post because several of the enemy had crept down from the hill behind and had attacked my brother and his servant. I killed one of them, and the blood of the other is still on my sword. Why, Rupert, you know that you called out, 'Thanks, Herbert, you have saved my life.' Those were your very words!"
The man appealed to shook his head slowly and as though with great reluctance. The sigh seemed to madden the prisoner, and he made a sudden movement forward as though to spring at him.
"Oh, this is horrible!" he cried. "Where is Fenwick? He saw it all. Let him be called."
General Luxton glanced again at the list before him and looked up.
"You are unfortunate in your selections," he said, dryly. "The evidence of Hilton and your brother, to whom you appealed, only strengthens the case against you. Fenwick is missing. Herbert Devereux," he went on sternly, "the charge against you has been proved. I, myself, at a most critical moment, saw you desert your post when it was the centre of attack, and it fell to another's lot to lead your men on to the pursuit. The reasons which you have brought forward to account for your unwarrantable action have been clearly disposed of. You are most certainly guilty of a crime for which, amongst soldiers, there is no pardon. But you are young, and I cannot forget that you are the son of one of the most distinguished officers with whom it has been my good fortune to be associated. For his sake I am willing to make some allowance for you—on one condition you may retain your commission, and, I trust, retrieve this well-nigh fatal mistake in the future. To the crime of cowardice you have added the crime of lying; for that your account of the attack upon your half-brother and your rescue is a pure fabrication I cannot doubt. The peculiar curve in the defile behind trench 4 unfortunately hid you from the field of battle and prevents further evidence as to the occurrence which, you say, took place. But that your story is false no one can possibly doubt. The place has been carefully examined, and there are no dead bodies within a hundred yards. It seems, from your appeal to your half-brother, that you expected him to shield you at the expense of his honour. This lie and false statement of yours you must retract if you hope for any mercy from me."
There was a convulsive agony in the boy's white, strained face as he drew himself up, and looked half piteously, half indignantly at his judge. But when he tried to speak he could not, and there was a minute or two's dead silence whilst he was struggling to obtain the mastery over himself. All expected a confession, and General Luxton removed his eyes from the prisoner, and bent close over his papers, that none might read the compassion which was in his heart, and which was reflected in his face.
The words came at last; and shrill and incoherent though they were, there was a ring of genuine dignity in them.
"General Luxton, I have been guilty neither of cowardice nor falsehood. I swear before God, on the sword which my father himself put into my hands before I left England; by everything that is most holy to me I swear that my account of this awful occurrence is true. Ask the men of whom I was in command when I caught sight of—of him"—and he pointed with a trembling finger and a gesture than which nothing could have been more dramatic to his half-brother—"ask them whether I bore myself like a coward when those spears were whistling around us, or when we were fighting hand-to-hand after the first repulse. God knows that I did not. I left my post to encounter a greater danger still. Bitterly do I regret that I ever did so; but it is the only indiscretion of which I am guilty. I swear it."
General Luxton raised his head, and what there had been of compassion in his face was either gone or effectually concealed.
"You have sworn enough already," he said, sternly. "Herbert Devereux, I am bitterly disappointed in you. I was willing to spare your father the disgrace which I fear will kill him; but you cut away the ground from under my feet. You are most certainly proved guilty of gross cowardice in the face of the enemy found guilty, not upon the evidence of one man, but of two, and one of those your own relative. Circumstances, too, are strong against you, so are the probabilities. Most undeniably and conclusively you are found guilty; guilty of cowardice, guilty of falsehood. You will remain under arrest until I can find an opportunity of sending an escort with you to the Hekla. Your commission is forfeited to the Queen, whose uniform you have disgraced."