"But you didn't know, dear—you wouldn't have fired that shot if you had——"
He lifted himself suddenly and recovered his self-control.
"No. That's just it," he answered bitterly. "I wouldn't have done it had I known—nor would he, had he known. But I should have seen before that every torn and mangled body I had counted in the reckoning of the glory of battle was some other man's brother, some other mother's boy——"
He paused and drew himself suddenly erect:
"Well I'm awake now—I know and see things as they are!"
His hand unconsciously felt for his revolver, and Betty threw her arms around his neck with a smothered cry of horror:
"Merciful God—John—my darling—you are mad—what are you going to do?"
"Why nothing, dear," he protested, "nothing! I'm simply going to ask the President whose power is supreme to give my father a fair trial or release him—that's all—you needn't stay longer—the carriage is waiting. I can introduce myself and plead my own cause. If he's the fair, great-hearted man you believe, he'll see that justice is done——"
"You are going to kill the President!" Betty gasped.
"Nonsense—but if I were—what is the death of one man if thousands live? I saw sixty thousand men in blue fall in thirty days—two thousand a day—besides those who wore the grey. At Cold Harbor I saw ten thousand of my brethren fall in twenty minutes. Why should you gasp over the idea that one man may die whose death would stop this slaughter?"