In the glare of that shot I saw
his face--the face of my brother! I caught him in my arms as he fell and
held him while the life blood ebbed away through the hole I had torn
near his heart. And then I saw what I'd been doing, saw it all as it
is--war--brother murdering his brother--the shout and the tumult, the
drums and bugles, the daring and heroism of it all, just that and
nothing more--brother cutting his brother's throat----"
His head sank into his hands in a sob that strangled speech.
Betty slipped her arm tenderly around his shoulder and stroked the heavy
black hair.
"But you didn't know, dear--you wouldn't have fired that shot if you
had----"
He lifted himself suddenly and recovered his self-control.
"No. That's just it," he answered bitterly. "I wouldn't have done it had
I known--nor would he, had he known. But I should have seen before that
every torn and mangled body I had counted in the reckoning of the glory
of battle was some other man's brother, some other mother's boy----"
He paused and drew himself suddenly erect:
"Well I'm awake now--I know and see things as they are!"
His hand unconsciously felt for his revolver, and Betty threw her arms
around his neck with a smothered cry of horror:
"Merciful God--John--my darling--you are mad--what are you going to do?"
"Why nothing, dear," he protested, "nothing! I'm simply going to ask the
President whose power is supreme to give my father a fair trial or
release him--that's all--you needn't stay longer--the carriage is
waiting.
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