“But—but why did you desert?”
“Why?” he repeated. Then his face turned red and he burst out violently: “I’ll tell you why. I lived in New York, but I thought the South was in the right. Then they drafted me; and I tried to tell them it was an outrage, but they gave me the choice between Fort Lafayette and Kay’s Cavalry.... And I took the Cavalry and waited.... I wouldn’t have gone as far as to fight against the flag—if they had let me alone.... I only had my private opinion that the South was more in the right than we—the North—was.... I’m old enough to have an opinion about niggers, and I’m no coward either.... They drove me to this; I didn’t want to kill people who were more in the right than we were.... But they made me enlist—and I couldn’t stand it.... And now, if I’ve got to fight, I’ll fight bullies and brutes who——”
He ended with a gesture—an angry, foolish boast, shaking his weapon toward the north. Then, hot, panting, sullenly sensible of his fatigue, he laid the pistol on the table and glowered at the floor.
She could have taken him, unarmed, at any moment, now.
“Soldier,” she said gently, “listen to me.”
He looked up with heavy-lidded eyes.
“I am trying to help you to safety,” she said.
A hot flush of mortification mantled his face:
“Thank you.... I ought to have known; I—I am ashamed of what I said—what I did.”
“You were only a little frightened; I am not angry.”