“‘Lieutenant Sentore,’ he said, ‘disperse your men.’
“I gave the word to disband my men, and then stood at attention before him.
“‘Lieutenant Sentore,’ he said, in the same level voice, ‘return to your quarters and consider yourself under arrest. Await my coming there.’
“I turned and obeyed his orders. It seemed incredible that the sand should still be running in the hour-glass, for ages appeared to have passed over my head since last I was in that room. I paced up and down, awaiting the coming of my chief, feeling neither fear nor regret, but rather dumb despair. In a few minutes his heavy tread was on the stair, followed by the measured tramp of a file of men. He came into the room, and with him were a sergeant and four soldiers, fully armed. The general was trembling with rage, but held strong control over himself, as was his habit on serious occasions.
“‘Lieutenant Sentore,’ he said, ‘why were you not at your post?”
“‘The running sand in the hour-glass’ (I hardly recognised my own voice on hearing it) ‘stopped when but half exhausted. I did not notice its interruption until it was too late.’
“The general glanced grimly at the hour-glass. The last sands were falling through to the lower bulb. I saw that he did not believe my explanation.
“‘It seems now to be in perfect working order,’ he said, at last.
“He strode up to it and reversed it, watching the sand pour for a few moments, then he spoke abruptly:—
“‘Lieutenant Sentore, your sword.’