“I have reason to remember Mr. Brice,” he said steadily. And then, with some vehemence, “What is he doing in Vicksburg?”
Stephen looked at Jennison, who winced.
“The city has surrendered,” said that officer.
They counted on a burst of anger. Colfax only groaned.
“Then you can afford to be generous,” he said, with a bitter laugh. “But you haven't whipped us yet, by a good deal. Jennison,” he cried, “Jennison, why in hell did you give up?”
“Colfax,” said Stephen, coming forward, “you're too sick a man to talk. I'll look up the General. It may be that I can have you sent North to-day.”
“You can do as you please,” said Clarence, coldly, “with a—prisoner.”
The blood rushed to Stephen's face. Bowing to the lady, he strode out of the room. Colonel Jennison, running after him, caught him in the street.
“You're not offended, Brice?” he said. “He's sick—and God Almighty, he's proud—I reckon,” he added with a touch of humility that went straight to Stephen's heart. “I reckon that some of us are too derned proud—But we ain't cold.”
Stephen grasped his hand.