“Sir,” she cried seizing his hand, “Harriet Owen hath never knelt to mortal man before save her king. I kneel to you, sir, and I beg, I implore you to exercise clemency toward my brother. He hath been guilty of naught save that he hath served his king. He hath a blameless reputation as a soldier, and you yourself are a soldier. It may be just to retaliate; I know not. But is there not mercy as well as justice? ’Twill be great and noble to exert leniency in such a case as this.”
“Rise, I beg of you,” he exclaimed, much pained. “I must do my duty, however abhorrent it may be to me. There hath been mercy shown already in that your brother hath had several days of grace, and the order for his execution not yet signed.”
At that Harriet clung to his hand desperately.
“Do not sign it yet, sir. You will not give his life—give me then a little time.”
“For what purpose? Is not uncertainty full of anguish and suspense?”
“No, no, no,” she answered vehemently. “It hath hope, possibilities. Sir, give me time to go to Sir Guy Carleton to lay the matter before him. He is our own commander. He should give you Captain Lippencott, the one who did the deed.”
“And there we are agreed,” he made answer. “I will do this, Miss Harriet, though I fear that your efforts will meet with no success. With your commander-in-chief lies the only gleam of hope that the situation possesses. Sir Guy hath reprobated the act in no uncertain terms, but still he finds himself unable to do aught than to accept the rulings of the court-martial. Go to him, Miss Harriet, and bring all the influence you have to bear upon him that he may release to us this man, Lippencott. No one would rejoice at your success more than I. Meantime your brother shall live until the result is made known to me. You shall have a reasonable time allowed.”
“Thank you, sir. I thank you——” The girl attempted to lift the hand to which she still clung to her lips, but a deadly faintness seized her. She trembled, grew pale, and fell in an unconscious heap at his feet.