"
The mother held her at arms' length a moment:
"How sweet and beautiful you are! How happy I am that you love my John!
I'm proud of you. Is John here?"
Betty's face clouded:
"No. I telegraphed him to come. He answered that a great battle was
about to be fought and that it was absolutely useless to ask for
pardon----"
"But it isn't--is it, dear?"
"No, we'll fight. John doesn't know the President as I do. We'll never
give up--you and I--Mother!"
Again they were in each other's arms in silence. The older woman held
her close.
And then came the long, hard fight.
The President heard the mother's plea with tender patience and shook his
head sorrowfully.
"I'm sorry, dear Madam," he said at last, "to find this case so
dangerous and difficult. Our army is approaching a battle. Tremendous
issues hang on the results. It looks now as if this battle may end the
war. The enemy have as good right to send their brave scouts and spies
among us to learn our secrets as we have to send ours to learn theirs.
They kill our boys without mercy when captured. I have just asked
Jefferson Davis to spare the life of one of the noblest and bravest men
I have ever known. He was caught in Richmond on a daring errand for his
country. They refused and executed him. How can I face my Secretary of
War with such a pardon in my hands?"
The mother's head drooped lower with each sorrowful word and when the
voice ceased she fell on her knees, with clasped hands and streaming
eyes in a voiceless prayer whose dumb agony found the President's heart
more swiftly and terribly than words.
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