"I have nothing to say, sir."
"Captain Cary!" ordered the General and, as Cary rose unsteadily to his feet, "No. Keep your seat, sir; you are wounded. Is it true—as I learn from this report—that during a skirmish a week ago you helped defend the Union colors against your own people?"
Cary shot up from his chair with a fiery rush of anger.
"I? No, sir! I defended the man—not the soldier, or his flag!"
"Ah!" ejaculated the General, leaning back in his chair and blowing out a cloud of smoke in surprise. "You draw a rather fine distinction, Captain. You saved the colors—but you failed to save the man! You had better have let him die—as an honorable soldier."
There was silence for a moment, and the General asked: "Is it true that you were actuated by a debt of gratitude?"
"Yes," answered the Southerner, throwing back his head. "And a greater debt than I can ever hope to pay. His mercy to—my little girl."
Without relaxing for a moment his grip on the points of the case, no matter what human elements might be drawn into it, the General instantly rose and shot out an accusing forefinger at the Confederate.
"And the pass he gave—to you!"
Their eyes clashed but the Southerner lowered his own not a whit and backed them, furthermore, with honest anger.