The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 27, 1903, Page 4

room, then?” she went on with becom- ing humility. ““This room is not mine; I am a pris- oner, madam. I have no choice as to my guests.” “But you will soon be free,” returned the girl quietly. “That is, as soon as General Beauregard learns that I—I—" “Give yourself no concern, Miss Glen,” he said loftlly; “I shall not betray you. “What! edly. “I will not,” sternly. “But they say—I heard—you are to— be—court-martialed.” Her volce sank to a low whisper, as if she were awestricken by the heavy tid- You won't tell him?" amaz- ings. “I am.” “And that you will be found gullty—" “I shall be.” “And—you may—be—shot!” You should have thought of that last night when you arresttd me, Impris- oned me and so made me false to my duty. But what's the use—" He checked the swift rush of his indigna- tion and continued in bitter calm: “A n who could so trifie with a sol- nor cannot appreciate the con- es to him.” wom seque: 1 am sure,” she went on very hum- bly, “that I didn’t realize what' would happen.” Of course not,” sarcastically. AndTam willing to make anyamends I will tell General Beaure- self that I did it—that it was That I alone am to blame.” I forbid you to do it!” he exclaimed with great energy. “I do not care what you say, I shall * stubbornly u 4o not know he urged, his heart leaping at the thought that she was willing to set him right and take blame upon £ — and she what it means,” r all! do not Kknow this would he was high the will ace ainly He longed tc her up in his arms omfort her, re- at might steppi to her and unbending mpe thought will you prevent t My u, I for- But if T disobey? 1 never promised to vou, did I?7— that is, not yet?” “I cannot compel you, of course,” he answered sadly, drawing pack a little. “I know I have neither power nor in- fluence over you, Miss Glen, but this, at least, I can do. I can swear that you are not telling the truth.” “I am sure they would not belisve you against me,” she retorted veha- mently CHAPTER X. think they would believe me against even you,” answered Sempland. “I would tell them that you—ah—love me and that you were trying to save me. And more, if you say one word to Gen- eral Beauregard or any one else about it after you leave this room I give you my word of honor I will declare that I was afraid to go and that I stayed with you.” “Why will asked. “Because I love you,” he burst out, “that’s the only reason. I have told you before, but you did not seem to be- lleve it—at least you did not appear to care; but now it won't hurt you to hear it once more. You won't have to hear it again from me. It's the last time. I expect every moment they will be here to summon me before the court- martial, so I must tell you now. You are a cruel, heartless coquette. You encouraged Lacy—" “I did not!” indignantly. “And you didn't discourage me.” “How dare you say so?" “Last night when I held you in my arms and kissed you—" “I was powerless.” “When I released you you clasped me around the neck and returned my ca- ress. I'll swear you did, and all the time you had another man in your heart.” “Another man!” she great astonishment. “Yes. That man on the Wabash.” “Oh, the man on the Wabash!" “Yes. You wanted to save him. So you played with me. Why weren’t you honest about it? Why didn’t you tell me the truth? But no, you chose to disgrace me for him. Well, you succeed- ed. 1 shall pay the penalty. I shall keep silent for your sake. He may have you and you may have him, but my death will be ever between you. The burden of obligation will be heavy upon you both, more than you can carry!” you be so foolish?” she exclaimed in He had worked himself up into a jealous rage by this time. His self- control was completely gone. “Who is the man?”’ he burst out at lest, while she took a. wicked joy in his misapprehension. “His—his—name—is—" she spoke slowly and with seeming reluctance as if to spare him. “Then there is a man? Good God! I had hoped, in spite of everything, that I might have been mistaken, that you acted so for some other reason. Dc you love him?" “Yes,” faintly, head. “Do you really love him, or are you making a fool of him as you did of me?"” “Put I—love you, too,” she said de- murely, gently dropping her head so that her face was half hidden from his intent gaze. “How can you love both of us?” he exclaimed, angered beyond endurance by her apparent coquetry. “It's—it's—different,” she answered demurely. “If Lacy were here I supposé he weuld understand, but women such as you are beyond me.” “It seems so.” “But why prolong this interview longer, Miss Glen? Your secret is safe with me. Probably you came here to learn that. I will not allow you to be- tray it, either”—how inconsistent he was. she thought—"you know that I love you, and I know that you do not love me, that your heart is with that man on the ship. Won't you please leave me alone? I really shall need all my sclf-command, my strength, to face the court-martial, and you—you—un- man me. I thank you for coming to turning away her see me, but—rorgive my apparent dis- coustesy—I would rather be alone. Good-by “Walit,” she said. sh—"' heaven!™ he interrupted savagely as a man of somewhat elemental passions when he was aroused, and he was thoroughly aroused then—"have vou no merey, no pity? This is too much! I don’t want to hear a word about him. Whoever he is 1" sir!” cried the girl impres- L v, “or you will say something for which you will be sorry.” Y I should like to have him within reach of my hand!” he said grimly, extending his arm as he spoke, and his expression was not pleasant to see. “I'd—" \ “I am sure,” she went on hurriedly, cutting him off, “you would not do a thing to him if he stood right here.” “That man on the “Would I not? And pray, why not?” he asked bitterly. “Because—"’ She stopped reluctant to discolse her secret. Once she did so her power was gone. “Because—" she said again. “Tell me in heaven's name! You torture me!” “Because he—is—my—"" Again she stopped and again his anxiety got the better of him. He caught her hands in his own and held them with a grasp that hurt her. “My God, will you cease this cruelty? He is not your—you are not really married to him, are you “Hardly. Let go of my hands,” she answered, striving to draw away; yet for a fairly strong young woman she exhibited an astonishing feebleness in her endeavor. “Who is he?” with imperious insist- ence. “My father—there! lease me?” “Your father! And there is no other man?” in great bewilderment, through which the glimmering of a greater re- lief began to shine. She shook her head. “And you did this for him alone?" “No-0-0,” with reluctance, “not al- together for him alone.” “Who else then?” “I told you Ilast night,” she an- swered evasively, Now wiil you re- Slowly she felt herself being drawn nearer to him. She struggled feebly, glad to overcome by his superior strength. In another moment she was in his arms for the second time. Her head was bent down toward his watch rocket. Holding her safe with one arm he put his hand under her chin, and turned her face upward. There were blushes on her cheeks, laughter and tears in her eyes. The interrupted kiss trembled upon her lips, and he—well, this time it was longer than the night before and more satisfying. As he kissed her her arms went around his neck again. “There was no other man,” she whigpered. “There never was any one but you. I did wrong, very wrong, but my father and you—that was my excuse. And I loved you all the time."” When there was opportunity some moments later for articulate conver- sation he endeavored to solve the mystery of her paternity, the under- standing of which he had put by in the face of more pressing business—or pleasure. “Then your name {isn't Fanny Glen?” “That’s part of it." “What's the rest of {t?" “Fanny Glen Vernon.” “What! Is Admiral father?"” “He is.” “How is that?" “When the war broke out he stayed with the North, was true to his flag, he sald. I had seen little of him since my mother’s death, when I was 10 years old. I was a Southern woman. It seemed monstrous to me. I begged and implored him, but useléssly, and finally our relations were broken off. So I Vernon your aropped tne name of Vernon, and came here te work for our cause—the rest you know. But I could not let him be blown up unsuspecting, could I? If he were killed in action it would be terrible, but that was a dreadful end- ing. I thought—I don't know what I thought. I love the South, but—" “I understand, my dearest,” he said, in no condition to understand anything very clearly, and caring little for the moment for anything except that she loved him. “And you forgive me?” “Forgive you? With all my soul. This moment, with you in my arms, with your arms around my neck, with your kisses upon my lips, with your words in my ear, with your love in my heart—this makes up for everything! I shall go to my death gladly.” “Your death?” Z “Yes. Your confession to me makes no difference.” “But I will tell the general.” “I forbid it! Darling, you have com- mitted an act of treason to the South, and while your love for your father— and for me—has explalned it, you could not make such a plea as that before any court-martial composed of soldiers. You would only harm yourself and you ‘would not help me, and so I won't al- low it.” ] “But I will tell the general!” “Dearest, no,” sald Sempiand, smil- ing fondly at her. “We will anticipate what might have been. If all had gone well you would have promised to obey me before the altar. Would you not?” She nodded with astonishing docllity. “Well, then—" “And if T will not?" “Why, then, I shall have to discredit you, as I threatened, and my own situ- ation will be more serious than before, for I shall brand myself as a coward, as well, and you would not like your lover to have that stigma on him.” “You will not let me save you, then?" “No,” answered the man, sighing deeply, “and life is so different to me now. I didn’t care an hour ago what happened, but now—" There was a tap on the door. “What is it?” he called out impa- tiently. “It's me, Lieutenant Sempland—Ser- geant Slattery,” answered the sergeant ol the guard, a whilom friend of Semp- land. “On me own account, sor, I come to tell ye that they’ll be afther comin’ for ve in a few minutes, an’ ye'd bétter git ready fer 'em. If ye have anythin’—any preparatigns to make, ye'd better be quick about fit, ser.” “Thank ' you,” answered Sempland. “You hear, dearest? You must go. I must have a moment to myself to en- able me to face this court-martial. Leave me now, I beg of you. Go home. After {t is over I shall ask permission of the general to have you visit me.” “I cannot go,” said Fanny Glen archly. “Why not?” “I am a prisoner."” “A prisoner! What for?"” “For treachery, disobedien ders, oh, everything!” she glibly. % “What do you mean?” “General Beauregard sent me hers this morning. The court-martial is for me, nct you. They're going to set you free and I am to be tried and shot, it may be.” “Nonsense! How did he find out?” “I told him myself. I didn’t disobey you, you see. You had not forbldden me to do it then.” “What did you tell him?"” “That Admiral Vernon was my fa- ther, and that I kept you—I—I—loved you.” “Great heaven! And—-" - “And then he called the adjutant general and they whispered together a moment and then he sent me here.” “Why did you do 1t?" cried the man reproachfully. “They will punish you in some way. I would rather have dled Northern Virginia. They are accom- panfed by a personal letter to my friend, General Lee, in which I have asked him to give you a position on his staff with all its opportunities for use- ful service and distinction. May you reflect credit, as I have no doubt you will, upon the South, the State of South Carolina, and all our hopes and ambi- tions for you. Gentlemen,” to the oth- ers, “you are all witnesses to this re- habilitation of Captain Sempland?” The room was instantly filled with the sound of hearty cheering from the officers In attendance. “General Beauregard, you have overwheimed me,” faltered Sempland as soon as he could make himself heard; “I have done nothing to de- serve this honor.” Beauregard stepped nearer to him. “You would have sacrificed your life for a woman,” whispered the gallant little general approvingly, “I under- stan Then he said aloud: “See that you strive to merit our trust and confi- derce in the future, then. You will have many chances for great deeds with General Lee. Would that I were with him.” “General,” “your kindness emboldens me. lady, sir—" “Is a prisoner,” said the general shortly. “T know it, sir. rille blunder, ¥ “Gentlemen,” sald Beauregard, turn- ing to his staff officers, “you know the story of last night. How this lady in- terfered to prevent an important mili- tary maneuver, the object of which was the destruction of the Federal flagship by a torpedo, and Incidentally the probable death of Captain Semp- #ald the young man, This Bhe committed a ter- i oF er than have you tell. What shall I do now?"” CHAPTER XI There was a hurried movement on the part of the sentry in the corridor, fol- lowed by the trampling of many feet* On the threshold stood General Beau- regard himself, his visage charged with an unusual degree of solemnity. Back of him were grouped the members of his staff and others who had been on the wharf the night before. They were all jn full uniform and made a most impressive sight. It was a highly dra- matic moment, full of menace to the woman. As for Sempland, he scarcely comprehended it. “The court-martial!” whispered Fan- ny Glen fearfully, Instinctively shrink- ing closer to Sempland as she spoke. That officer knew, of course, that no court-martial was ever inaugurated in that manner, but he said nothing. He did not understand. He would await developments. Something was in the wind, certainly. What could it be? “Captain Sempland,” said the gener- al formally, advancing further into the room, followed by the rest, “you are relieved from arrest, sir, and—" “Captain Sempland?” murmured Sempland in great surprise. “Yes, sir, Captain Sempland, with marked emphasis on the title. “You are restored to duty forthwith, sir,” continued the general, smiling at his astonished subordinate. “The charges of neglect of duty and disobedience of orders which I made last night and re. peated this morning are withdrawn. There never was any suspicion of cowardice or treason. Although you did not succeed, having been prevented by causes beyond your control, as I now learn, from taking out the David, yet your earnest desire to do so, the fact that you volunteered for the detall, and even besought me to give it to you, the extreme measures to which you re- sorted to escape from conflnement in order to carry out your orders, even go- ing so far as to threaten a lady, war- rant me in promoting you. Here,” re- celving the weapon from one of the staff officers, “is your sword. I return it to you.” Next the general drew some papers from his coat. “Here is your commission as captain. Here are or- ders which take you to the Army of V A7) THE = DAVIDE” . land. Such conduét 1s essentially treasonable, especially in a state of war., What is the punishment for such actions in the face of the enemy?” “Death, sir,” returned the assistant general solemnly. “Are you all agreed as to that, gen- tlcmen?” “We are, sir,” was the unanimous re- ply. They had been well tutorad in the lltue.cnmedy which the general had ar- ranged, it was evident. ‘Impossible, sir!” cried Sempland in agony. They deceived even him with their seriousness. “This is most ir- regular! I protest—" “I am ready, gentlemen,” whispered Fanny Glen bravely, turning very white as she spoke and not appearing at all ready in fact. “I—I—am glad to —suffer since Captain Sempland—"" she faltered with a migerable attempt at courage. “One moment, please,” broke in the little general imperatively. “But, gen- tlemen, the culprit has otherwise de- served well of her country, as you know. During the war her services in the general hospital have been beyond price. She is a woman. On the ship which it was proposed to blow up was her father, Admiral Vernon, a South Carolinian, whose ideals of duty led him to continue his services to the United States. These are mitigating circum- stances. Here is no treachery to the South, merely a woman's desire to save her father from a swift and sudden death. No mischance has arisen from her action. Major Lacy took out the boat with his usual distinction, al- though, fortunately for the lady, the Housatonic seems to have suffered in- stead of the Wabash. Under these cir- cumstances, I think, it does not be- hoove us to be too severe. You agree with me, I am sure, gentlemen?"” “Certainly, sir, we do,” replied the officers in chorus. “Thank you! thank you!” exclaimed Fanny Glen gratefully with boundless relief in her voice. By this time she was as close to Sempland as she could get, and, entire- 1y unconscious of what he was doing, the latter had thrown his arm protect- ing around her walist. “Walit, Miss Glen,” said the general severely, lifting his hand and checking her further speech, “you cannot think to escape scot free. Such actlons can- not go entirely unpunished. As long as Miss Fanny Glen exists she must suf- fer for her actions. You are agreed with me, gentlemen?” “We are, sir.” It was remarkable the unanimity with which they all supported their general's decision, on so serious a mat- ter and practically without delibera- tion. “Captain Sempland, as a soldier, I am sure you will acquiesce in the views of your brother officers.” Sempland bit his lip. Fanny Glen nestled closer to him and looked up at him beseechingly. “Oh, general,” he said at last. “Tsu't there some way out of it?” “There may be,” sald the general s emnly. “Let me think a moment. ¥ pose—ah, suppose Miss Fanny Glen should disappear?” “But where can I go, sir?” asked the girl nervously. “All that I love—" sh observed a smile flickering upon t} general's lips as she glanced at Sem land, “I mean everybody and ever: thing that I love is here.” She stampud her foot impatiently. “You won't send me to the Union fleet? I know father is safe—but I love the South. I will never do anything wrong again if you won’t send me away!” she pleaded. It was, indeed, a sweeping promise, one she could scarcely have kept. “There are other ways by which Miss Fanny Glen might disappear,” said Beauregard gravely. “How, sir?” “You might change your name— again!" “Change my name?"” “Yes. You might become—Mrs. Lihett Sempland, let us say!” “O-0-h!"cried the girl, dblushing furi- ously and drawing away from her lover’s side an- eral suspicious Sempland \ea leaped with happ This was the meaning of the general's littfe play, then. “Proceedings which Would have to be instituted against Fanny ( n could’ then be al- lowed to drop,” continued Beaure- gard, enjoying tk situation imme ly. “Is not that solution, gentle- men?" he asked, throwing back his head and laughing cheerfully at the Vleasant ending of the little comedy e had planned, which pleased the imall hugely. “That i the hap- piest of all solu- ness. audience tions, sir,” sald Sempland, taking Fanny Glen's hands. “I won't be mar- ried stmply to save my life,” said the sirl “Or course not,” sald the general “Yet either you must De court-martialed or Mr. Semp- land will be.” p “I—I—might do it—to save—his life, sir,” she sald, blushing furiously again. “However it is done,” said Sempland, owever it may be brought about, It satisfles me completely.” “‘If ’twere done when ’‘tis done, ‘twere well ‘twere dome quickly, quoted the general with striking appo- siteness, greatly delighted at the out- come of the affafr. “I agree with you entirely, st turned Sempland, smiling—it was the part of wisdom for a captain to agree with a general always, and the way of prudence was the path of pleasure in this instance. “Captain Sempland,” - said Beaure- gard, “your orders may not be carried out until to-morrow. There will be time enough before that time for a wedding, in which, In the absence of her father, 1 promise myseif the M&&f glving away the bride. Now, gen en, we will leave the—ah—two culprit§ to talk it over for & few moments. Let me know your decision, Kiss Glen, as soon as may be, that I may decide whether to- assemble or dissolve the court. And rest assured the hgppenings of last night and this morning, so far as they concern Miss Glen, are not to be spoken outside this room by ar_ ome. Good morning."” “Fanny Glen,” said Sempland when they were alone once more, “are you marrying me to save yourself?" She shook her head. “Rhett Sempland, are you marrying me,” she asked In return, “to save yourself?” “I am marrying you, you little darling, as you very well know, because I love you.” “And that is my reason, too,” said Fanny Glen. “Fanny Glen,” he sald imperiously, “come here!" And to him she came with astonish- ing meekness. “Put your arms around my neck.” And obediently she put them. “Lift up your head.” Slowly, surely, up it came. After all, Fanny Glen did love a mas- terful man. THE END. THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL R —— pes JNNNR——