“All I ask of you, Major Riggleston, and of you, Miss Hasbrouk, is to keep still,” continued Somers.
“I will,” replied Maud, eagerly.
“And I will, Captain Somers. What I have done here to save my life has ruined me. I shall never be seen in the service again.”
“I think you are coming to your senses, major.”
“May I ask you to keep quiet in regard to what I have done? for you know the penalty of that which I could not have done if I had not stood on the brink of the open grave.”
“That will depend on your own conduct. Return to your bed; and if you are treacherous, you will suffer for it.”
“I may die,” groaned the major, who had sunk into a chair, for he believed his wound was much worse than it really was.
Perhaps some twinges of remorse had induced him to aid Somers in his mission more than he otherwise would; he was not a man of nerve, or a man of much nobility of purpose, and his severe wound had worked a great change in his moral and mental organization. The fear of death had deprived him of what little manliness he possessed, and under the pressure of that terror, he had sunk lower down in the scale of humanity than it would have been possible for him under any other circumstances. He had absolutely betrayed the cause for which he professed so earnest and sincere a devotion. His boasted honor was a delusion. He was an exception, even in the ranks of southern heroes.
Somers was satisfied with what was promised, and with what had already been performed. He restored his pistol to his belt, and hastened to the back room, where Captain Barkwood was no doubt anxiously waiting to hear from him.
“Come out, captain,” said he, as he threw open the door.