“A feller that we caught sneaking round the camp,” answered the leader, gruffly. “He claims to be a Southerner, and I reckon he is one all right, but his actions are decidedly suspicious. We were bringing him to you when this girl recognized him, and called the turn on him as belonging to the Federals.”
“He is that worst of men, a Southerner who has turned against the State that gave him birth and who takes up arms against her,” said the Colonel sternly, yet with emotion. “I know him, men, personally. He is an officer in the Federal army. If he was prowling about here in those clothes he is without doubt a spy. Unhappy man,” he continued, turning to the prisoner, “what have you to say for yourself?”
“Nothing,” and the young fellow bowed his head upon his breast.
“You know the penalty of being caught as a spy,” went on the pitiless voice of the Colonel. “A spy is one of the most dishonorable of men, and deserves any death given him. We have not much time for such. You die at sunrise. Take him, men, and guard him well. I believe him to be a dangerous man.”
He turned back into his tent, and the soldiers started away with him, when Jeanne darted to the young man’s side, and caught his hand between her own.
“Forgive me,” she sobbed. “I did not know what I was doing. Forgive me.”
“Never mind, child,” said the young officer, drearily. “It would have happened any way. He knew me. I would rather have died in battle, but after all I have been doing my duty. It is not death I fear, but––”
“But what?” asked Jeanne, as he paused.
“It breaks my heart to be condemned to death by my own father,” came the agonized reply.