"
The girl tremblingly returned to her apartment, fearing that now she
might be forced to confront her own actions. But she was conscious
of a sort of passive courage. Mad Whately's anger, or that of
others, was a little thing compared to the truth that men were dead
and dying all about her.
"Mother," said her son, "I had cursed luck last night. I wish I had
slept on the rain-soaked ground near my prisoners," and he told her
what had happened.
"Oh, Madison!" sighed Mrs. Whately, "I wish this experience would
teach you to be more guided by me. Louise cared nothing for this
Yankee, except in a sort of grateful, friendly way. Through him, you
could have done so much to disarm--"
"Oh, well, mother, the milk is spilled. If possible, let the whole
affair be kept from her knowledge."
"Yes, I suppose that will be the best way. If she hears about it, we
must try to explain by the usages of war. Now, Madison, you are
cool. Let experience be your teacher, for you MUST face the truth.
You must either give her up--"
"I'll never give her up.
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