CHAPTER XX.

On the following morning the preparations for Captain Tanner’s funeral were complete. There had been a decided halt for a few moments when it came to the selection of the pall-bearers, as they had to be chosen by Colonel Pelham, poor Mrs. Tanner being still too desperately ill to more than faintly realize where she was or to recognize those who stood at her bedside. The colonel’s heart was sore against Truscott, for, while he could not say that his manner had been in the least disrespectful on the previous afternoon, he could complain and did complain that there was a spice of insubordination in the subaltern’s total refusal to offer any explanation. He resented the fact that Truscott evidently resented his conduct. He was stung to think that Truscott had friends to whom he readily furnished the proofs of his innocence, yet forbade their using them “officially”; and although he felt and knew that had he himself asked Truscott for these proofs in the first place, they would have been promptly set before him, he refused to see that, in having made Captain Canker his minister plenipotentiary for the time being, he had given Truscott good cause for his action in declining to defend himself at the eleventh hour. The more he heard of Canker’s language and manner in the now famous interview the less he liked it, the more he realized that he had made an awful blunder in intrusting such a matter to him, and the more peevish and irritable the poor old gentleman grew. Just at retreat the evening of his brief conversation with Truscott, Dr. Clayton, the post-surgeon, had met him and announced the arrival of the physician from Fort Whipple, and that the latter said it was more than probable that the general and some of his staff would come down to be present at Tanner’s funeral. Telegrams very congratulatory in their tone had been flying over the wires from Prescott ever since Truscott’s return with the news of the first fight. Then there came frequent inquiries by wire after Truscott’s health; then a deeply sympathetic message announcing the receipt of the tidings of Tanner’s death; then inquiries after Mrs. Tanner, and then they stopped coming to him entirely, though the doctor received frequent despatches. This added to Colonel Pelham’s fretfulness. It was mere accident and no slight whatever was intended, but he believed that in some way news of the Truscott-Canker affray had reached headquarters and that his conduct as post-commander was disapproved,—or something,—and, being a loyal adherent of the commanding general and a faithful friend, it worried him inexpressibly.

The telegraph operator denied having sent any despatch relating to the affair, but it had been suspected on more than one occasion that Corcoran had sent “confidential” messages on his own account to the operator there, and this was so spicy a piece of news that it was more than believed that he had communicated the whole story, with probable theories and comments of his own. Certain it is that before sunset that day a rumor was in circulation at Fort Whipple that Captain Canker had received a terrific thrashing at the hands of the adjutant, that a duel was imminent, and then that Truscott was in arrest and to be tried by court-martial.

“Has Dr. Harper seen Mrs. Tanner yet?” asked Pelham, anxiously.

“Not yet, sir. We are going in together as soon as he has changed his dress; he is at my quarters now,—at least he will be in a minute;” and the doctor looked uneasily up the row, and that led Pelham also to look the same way. And as they did so, Dr. Harper came forth from the adjutant’s, the ex-adjutant’s quarters by this time, and the colonel reddened as he saw it. Everybody whom he most liked and respected was evidently in sympathy with Truscott. No one went to inquire after Canker and his black eye, yet here, the moment the post-surgeon from Fort Whipple arrived, he must needs run in to see Truscott before going anywhere else. Pelham fairly winced.

“Look here, doctor,” he said, impatiently. “You know—I suppose everybody knows by this time—how your patient has been compromised by Mr. Truscott’s conduct, and I suppose you know that he positively declined to offer any explanation when I called upon him for it.”

“I do, sir,” said the doctor, gravely.

“Well, I’m told that he _has_ explained matters to one or two officers, yourself included, though he refused to explain to me, who had the best right to know. Also I’m told that you are convinced of his entire innocence.”

“I never doubted it, sir, much less hers.”

“Then, doctor, I think it your business to give me your reasons. If I’ve done him—or—or anybody else injustice, I want to know it; but I’m confounded if I can see how he can explain what—what has been seen by everybody,” said poor Pelham, irritably.

Dr. Clayton merely bowed.

“You will not give your reasons?”

“Not now, sir,” and the doctor was scrupulously respectful in tone and manner.

The colonel turned short on his heel and entered the house. Glenham was seated with Grace in the parlor, and Grace, looking far from well, glanced up eagerly and wistfully in her father’s face. He went up-stairs without a word.

Late that evening a despatch arrived saying that the general with Colonel Wickham and Mr. Bright of his staff were on their way to Sandy, and would arrive by noon on the following day. In the morning, therefore, he had to select the pall-bearers, and before breakfast Lady Pelham began her questioning. She had heard with eager satisfaction the announcement of Truscott’s relief from duty as adjutant of the regiment; she had already paved the way, she thought, for the appointment of a successor suitable to herself, and yet, so long as Truscott remained at the post she could not rest content: he was dangerous, she argued, and must be gotten rid of. An order assigning him to duty with one of the troops serving in the southern part of the Territory was what she wanted, if indeed he did not have to quit the service entirely; but the death of Captain Tanner had put as unexpected bar on that plan, as his troop was now left without an officer “present for duty,” the senior lieutenant of the regiment who would succeed to the captaincy being, as is not unusual in such cases, on detached duty in an Eastern city, with no intention whatsoever of throwing up his detail as an aide-de-camp so long as his regiment was roughing it in Arizona. This she saw would be likely to result in Truscott’s being ordered to assume command of Tanner’s troop. Then came his affray with Canker, his arrest and prospective court-martial, and now, to her dismay, she realized that not only was that going to detain him at the post, but that already everybody was beginning to veer around, and public sympathy was largely excited in favor of the very people whom she had been instrumental in bringing into trouble. Madame felt the ground giving way beneath her feet. Already she had learned that, while Truscott had indignantly refused to utter a word in his defence, his utter innocence of wrong in thought or deed had been so clearly established that his friends were triumphant, his enemies disconcerted, and the ladies who but two days before were whispering all manner of scandal at the expense of poor little Mrs. Tanner, now found it expedient to hold their tongues and wait. It was getting unpopular to say anything that might be construed as an insinuation against her, and at all hours of the day the gentle and forgiving creatures had been swarming to her quarters to see if there really wasn’t something they could do. And that evening as a party of them stood talking in low tones upon the Turners’ gallery, Mrs. Raymond found opportunity to say,—

“Well, I’m thankful _I_ never said a word against her.”

“And so am I,—devoutly,” echoed Mrs. Turner.

Of course Lady Pelham could see no possible way of escape for Truscott. His conduct and Mrs. Tanner’s indiscretion were past all explanation in her severely virtuous mind, but it was disconcerting to observe that “the best people in the garrison” were exhibiting decided change of heart and correspondingly avoiding her, “As if _I_ were the one to blame,” said her ladyship.

In selecting the pall-bearers Colonel Pelham asked nobody’s advice. Madame had attempted some questioning, but was warned by the knitting of his brow and an impatient gesture that he desired none of her interference. Handing the list to Major Bucketts, the colonel briefly told him to notify the gentlemen there named and to detail Captain Canker and his troop for the escort. There was fitness in that selection, as Mr. Ray observed, for the captain was already in half-mourning, but Truscott’s name was not on the list of pall-bearers, and thereat Mr. Ray saw fit to wax indignant. He had no idea of policy, and, finding that he had been named as one of them, proceeded straight to the colonel’s office, and for the first time since his return from scout exhibited himself to his commander.

“Colonel, I was the last officer of the regiment to see Captain Tanner alive, and during this late scout I had more than one confidential talk with him. Will you permit me to say that the omission of Mr. Truscott’s name from the list of pall-bearers would be the last thing Captain Tanner would wish could he express a wish?”

The colonel liked Ray,—liked him better than ever since his adventure with Grace, and, as some of the captains growlingly remarked, “‘Old Catnip’ would put up with anything in Ray’s troop and wouldn’t stand a rusty buckle in anybody else’s.” It was not strictly accurate, but as an expression of the prevailing opinion was not greatly overdrawn. Very probably he would have severely snubbed any other officer, and even to Ray he spoke sternly.

“Mr. Truscott is in arrest, sir.”

“I know it, colonel; but you surely do not mean to prohibit his attending the funeral of his old captain and oldest friend.”

It was just what Pelham had intended doing. That is to say, he meant to grant no extension of limits or suspension from arrest unless Truscott asked it; but the hour was drawing nigh, Truscott had not asked, and the old gentleman was getting vastly afraid that he would not.

“Mr. Truscott has refused to vindicate his reputation, sir, and I do not think that in this matter he can expect much consideration,” said the colonel, trying to feel that what he said was just.

“It is more for the consideration due to Captain Tanner and to the regiment, colonel, that I am appealing,” said Ray, boldly. “Mr. Truscott would prohibit my appealing for him.”

“The regiment, sir, is inclined to the belief that if Mr. Truscott had been as careful of the honor of Captain Tanner during his life as he desires to be of the honors due him after death, he would stand higher than he does this day.”

Instantly he realized that he had said too much, and would have been glad to recall it. Ray flushed crimson with indignation.

“I beg your pardon, Colonel Pelham. You will find that the _men_ of the regiment do not agree with you,” he said, hotly.

“You are forgetting yourself, Mr. Ray,” said the colonel. “Leave the office, sir!” And, gritting his teeth and looking very red in the face, Mr. Ray did as he was bid.

Nevertheless, in half an hour the colonel sent Major Bucketts to say to Mr. Truscott that his arrest would be suspended until retreat, in order that he might have an opportunity of attending the obsequies of his late captain.

And so it happened later that bright wintry day that the guards at the large empty ward of the post-hospital respectfully stood aside and opened the door to the tall young officer who silently entered. The two hospital attendants sitting near a low table in the middle of the room rose and drew back, one of them reverently raising the fold of the flag draped over the head of the cloth-covered coffin, and Jack Truscott stood gazing down into the calm, pallid features of his friend.

Oh, what memories came surging up before him as he hung over the casket! More than eight years before, when fresh from West Point, he had reported for duty with Tanner’s company, and, joining him in Kansas, had served with him through more than one eventful campaign against the Sioux, Cheyennes, and Arapahoes; had found his captain always thoughtful, courteous, and considerate; had learned to trust him implicitly, and little by little to look up to and love him. Together they had “roughed it” over the prairies and “messed” in garrison; together they had gone East the second year of Jack’s service with the company, and he had appeared as best man at the quiet little ceremony which made his captain the happiest fellow on earth. And there he had met in the person of his bridesmaid the sister of the sweet woman of whom Tanner had so often talked to him on their long rides, and, in a beauty more radiant, a wit more sparkling, a vivacity more attractive, Jack Truscott had been able to believe he saw all the nobler attributes which existed in the gentle bride his comrade had won. In another year a courtship, conducted mainly by correspondence, had resulted in his engagement to be married to the younger sister of his captain’s wife, and yet he marvelled that she should desire that it be not yet announced, and had marvelled more that as day after day his relations with Tanner and his wife grew more cordial and intimate, Mrs. Tanner could never seem perfectly unembarrassed or confidently happy about that engagement.

Then her baby had been born, and he had been devoted to little Bertie. Could he ever forget Tanner’s choking voice and tear-dimmed eyes when he got back and tried to thank him for nursing the little one through that terrible illness? And then when, after all, they lost the child, how well he recalled her agony and his deep, manfully-subdued grief! How he recalled the long winter evenings in that bleak frontier fort when she with her sewing, he and Tanner with their books or papers, sat by the hour together, sometimes hardly speaking at all! And how they had gone, Mrs. Tanner and he, to plant the flowers around the little grave down by the stream; and then how, despite her grief, she seemed to watch him all that winter and the spring that followed, until he went away to assume the duties of the adjutancy. And how oddly, unusually earnest and affectionate and solicitous Tanner’s behavior to him had become, and his letters after he went away. He used to wonder at it then; but his letters from the East, from his _fiancée_, had been growing less frequent, more hurried, more unsatisfactory for a year, and when he took his leave of absence and went on to satisfy himself as to whether all was really as it should be, the truth came out. The wealth and position of a prominent merchant, a widower with three or four children, had been too much for her brief infatuation for a distant subaltern in the cavalry, and, like a sensible girl, she embraced her opportunity—and the widower; and Jack came back to the —th by no means the heartbroken man he ought to have been. It was Mrs. Tanner who felt it most. She never forgave her sister, and, in her gentle, womanly way, she redoubled her thoughtfulness for Jack, and more than ever had they welcomed him to their cosy quarters. But then came the move to Arizona,—a temporary separation. And when he again met his old comrades, he marked with dismay her pallid cheek, and learned in a few broken words from Tanner that what they feared in Kansas was now an undisputed fact. Heart disease in a dangerous form fastened upon her, and great care, said the physicians who were consulted, had to be exercised. She knew it all as well as they, but was ever bright, brave, and cheery, and no one but Tanner, Truscott, and the doctors ever suspected or at least knew the truth. Stronger and firmer had grown the ties which bound Tanner and himself together, but neither was demonstrative. No one but Mrs. Tanner ever dreamed how much they were to each other.

And now—and now the loving, devoted husband, the indulgent father, the dutiful soldier, the faithful friend lay here cold,—dead to his grief and desolation; and she, the sweet, pure, gentle wife, mother, and friend, lay at death’s door, robbed of her husband who was all in all to her; robbed of her friend who would have given his right hand to aid her; robbed of her good name by the infamous twaddle of garrison gossips; and he—he who had so reverenced and honored and loved them both, stood accused, even by the commander whom he had served so faithfully and well, of having dishonored the holiest friendship he had ever known. More than that. His colonel’s daughter, to whom he had given the strength and fervor of a man’s deep love, was cited as a witness against him. Oh, bitter, bitter were his thoughts, but presently he had to thrust them away. It was almost time for the formation of the escort, and he must take leave of the first and firmest friend he had found in all his army life. Jack bent and tenderly brushed aside the dark hair from the cold white forehead, and then kneeling, pressed his lips upon the placid face, and hot tears rolled down his cheeks. Even as he knelt there, with one arm thrown over the coffin, alone in his bereavement, the door again softly opened and two persons entered. He heard them not, and never moved. But they saw him, and stopped: a fragile, graceful girl clinging to the arm of a stout, rugged old soldier. She bore in her hand a little wreath of wild-flowers, simple and homely enough, but the best that hours of search could discover in that remote region. She had come to place them upon the bier of the gallant troop-commander her father so honored; but at sight of Truscott she held back, and father and daughter stood motionless an instant regarding him. The attendant stepped forward to offer a chair, and at the sound of his footfall Truscott raised his head and saw them. One second of indecision followed. Then, with one lingering look in the face of the dead, without another glance at Grace or the colonel, he slowly walked away.

An hour after, to the wailing notes of the band, the solemn _cortege_ formed around the new-made grave among the foot-hills west of the post. There stood Canker’s company, dismounted, and in full-dress uniform, the escort of the soldier-dead; there stood the gray-haired chaplain, whose tremulous voice rose and fell in mournful cadence on the still evening air; there, leaning on their sabres, were grouped the officers of the garrison, the general commanding and his aides, all with reverently uncovered head, many with tear-dimmed eyes; there stood a mourning, weeping group of ladies, the wives of brother officers, and among them many a heart faltered in the dread that any day it might be their lot to stand there and see that same flag lifted from the form of him who was all in all, as this had been all in all to her who lay sore-stricken in the desolation of her home. All around were grouped the soldiers of the post, for loved and honored he had been among them. And there, near the foot of the grave, stood Truscott, holding weeping little Rosalie in his arms. She would go to no one, walk with no one but Uncle Jack, and until he came and took her to his strong, heaving breast and buried her bright curls on his broad shoulder, the lonely little girl had cried piteously for him. And now they stood there clasped in each other’s embrace, while all that was mortal of the gallant officer and gentleman was lowered to the grave, and the solemn tones of the old chaplain gave thanks “for the good example of all those Thy servants who, having finished their course in faith, do now rest from their labors.” The heavy clods had fallen, the last prayer and blessing had been spoken, the grace of Him who suffered and died once more invoked, and then the sombre throng fell back from the grave, the bright-plumed helmets of the escort ranged up in line, the muffled word of command was given, the carbines flashed their parting volleys over the clay their ringing clamor could no longer thrill, the notes of the trumpets floated away with the smoke of the discharge, “Taps,” the soldiers’ signal for “extinguish lights” the world over, died away in distant echoes across the valley, and all was over. Ay, put out your light, old fellow, gallant comrade, trusted friend. Rest in peace, and may God grant you a joyous waking at the great reveille! But now, _allons_! _Le roi est mort, vive_ the next man! Lieutenant Stafford becomes captain _vice_ the deceased. It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good. Our turn may come next. Who knows? It’s all in the business. Soldiers cannot stop to mourn. Life is too short, anyway. So strike up your liveliest music, trumpeters. “Fours right,” gentlemen of the escort. “Left front into line, double-time,” go the platoons as they clear the enclosure, and the band bursts into the ringing, lively, rollicking quickstep from _La Fille de Madame Angot_, and with elastic steps we march away from the grave where our hero lies buried.

And now, gentlemen, to business! First and foremost this matter of Truscott’s has to be settled. The general has heard all about it, of course, and has not a word to say. It is a regimental matter entirely, and if the colonel should consider it necessary to forward charges against Mr. Truscott for his assault on the _pro tempore_ commanding officer, why, Mr. Truscott must be tried by court-martial. All the same, the chief has received Tanner’s last official report, in which the conduct of Truscott and Ray has been highly praised, and he sends for both those gentlemen and shakes them warmly by the hand and congratulates them heartily. He says very little, talking is not his forte, but white and Indian well know that what he says he means, and the wariest redskin will take his faintest promise in preference to any agreement stamped with the great seal of the Indian bureau. To Truscott and Ray he says not a word concerning the former’s arrest; he is totally oblivious to Canker’s black eye, and is scrupulously courteous to that officer when he meets him; he listens patiently to Colonel Pelham’s recital of the affair, because Pelham thinks he must allude to it, but he expresses no opinion whatever and has no suggestions to make. He calls laboriously on every lady in the garrison accompanied by Mr. Bright, and condoles with each in appropriate terms upon the great loss the regiment has sustained, but he generally manages to let them do all the talking, a matter that requires but little ingenuity to be sure, and to limit his call to four or five minutes; but at Mrs. Tanner’s he leaves his card and many a warm inquiry, and directs Dr. Harper to remain there “until he has pulled her through,” and he holds little Rosalie in his arms and presses his bearded, kindly face against hers, and something suspiciously like moisture stands thick in his eyes as he comes away. Then, refusing all escort, he starts back for Prescott; but meantime Colonel Wickham has had a plain talk with Pelham, likewise with Canker, and the latter, who has used up some quires of legal cap in his concoction of charges against Truscott, thinks it advisable at least to revise and condense; and immediately after dinner that evening Mr. Ray accompanies Truscott and Bucketts to the ex-adjutant’s quarters.

The mess has not been a particularly convivial place of late, and since Mr. Ray’s return the conversation has been more highly spiced with pepper than the viands. Truscott, the two doctors, and Bucketts have been very grave and silent, but Ray has kept the ball of conversation rolling in a way that at another time would have afforded immense entertainment to the elders. It is observed that unless spoken to by them he never addresses or notices Hunter or Glenham. Crane he cut long ago, and his demeanor to every officer whom he fancies in the most remote manner to have had anything to do with the stories at Truscott’s expense is in the last degree suggestive of “Won’t you have the goodness to knock this chip off my shoulder, or even ever so lightly tread on the tail of my coat?” Captain Canker he encountered in front of his quarters the very evening of his return, and something in his expression caused the captain to reflect and to restrain his impulse to hold forth his hand. It was a fortunate inspiration, for, looking him straight in the face, Mr. Ray passed him by without any recognition whatever, and Canker, who really liked the young fellow greatly, was stung to the quick.

And now the day before Christmas had come, and after the routine business of the office had been transacted, Major Bucketts, who still occupied the adjutant’s chair, inquired of the colonel at what time it would be convenient to him to see the doctor and himself on matters connected with the allegations against Mr. Truscott, and the colonel eagerly answered the sooner the better. In a short time, therefore, Dr. Clayton arrived, accompanied by Captain Turner, who had a small packet of papers in his hand. All being seated and the doors closed, the colonel inquired,—

“Well, gentlemen, what have you to say?” And the doctor became the spokesman.

“Colonel Pelham, as Mrs. Tanner is recovering and will soon be in a condition to enable her to attend to her husband’s affairs, it becomes necessary that Mr. Truscott should be able to assist her. Captain Turner has here written directions of Captain Tanner’s that, in the event of his sudden death, Mr. Truscott should take charge of his papers, etc., as he was acquainted with all the details of his business affairs. His will is very brief, he indicates, and leaves everything unreservedly to his widow and children, but there is much business to be attended to that both he and she have been in the habit of intrusting to Mr. Truscott when the captain had to be absent. Were Mr. Truscott not able to attend to these matters for her she would certainly expect to know why, and on her account at least, and to put an end to a scandalous story, we are here to-day.

“You and Captain Canker saw Mr. Truscott issuing from Mrs. Tanner’s house towards one o’clock in the morning the night of the 14th–15th, and believed it to have been—or rather attached an improper motive to his being there. Whether you are aware of the fact or not, Mr. Truscott has for eight years past been the most trusted and intimate friend the Tanners had, and these relations existed long before you joined the regiment as its colonel. Captain Tanner was ordered off on this last scout at a most inopportune time. He left the post just at the day and hour when five years before he had lost his first-born child in Kansas. It was very hard for him, it was desperately hard for her, and in the thought of her suffering it seems he forgot some important items of business. Two days out he wrote an urgent message to Truscott to have copies made of certain papers and get them off to his attorney’s in San Francisco as quick as possible. The letter reached Truscott after taps on the night of the 14th, the mail was to leave for Prescott the morning of the 15th. No time was to be lost. He went right to Tanner’s quarters, as he had done dozens of times before, got the papers, and by dint of two hours’ hard work had more than half finished the copies when your voice and Canker’s and the mention of his name attracted him. He went out at once, was sent on this message after the command, and Mrs. Tanner finished the copying and got the papers off. If Truscott was guilty for being there at one o’clock, I’m guiltier, for I was there at two. I saw her light in there as I was coming back from the hospital, where I had been called to see a sick man, and, fearing she was ill again, I went in at once, and she was just putting into envelopes the result of her work and his. There are the receipts for the registered package in which they went. Here is Captain Tanner’s letter requesting Truscott to attend to this work for him,” and he held forth the sheet.

Pelham took it. Drops of sweat were standing on his brow. He drew his hand across his eyes, but the hand that held the paper trembled so that he could not read. He flattened the paper out upon his desk and tried again, and the words danced before his eyes. Yet he saw enough to convince—he had heard more than enough to convince him, and the lump that rose in his throat wellnigh choked him.

“Should you need further proof I will send for Mr. Ray, for Tanner told him infinitely more than I have told you, sir. If not, we will go to the next point, of the actual allegations against Mr. Truscott. An officer reports having seen him take Mrs. Tanner in his arms out on the bluff just at first call for tattoo the night the command marched away. The officer says he only had a hasty glance, as his companion at once led him away. The story is true. Mr. Truscott did take her in his arms. If he hadn’t, she’d have fallen down the hill-side. He carried her home in his arms, and but for him she wouldn’t have got there. She was in a dead faint when I reached her just as tattoo was sounding. She had begged him to come for her and take her out there to see the last of them as they forded the stream below the post, and just as they were heard entering the ford the first call for tattoo sounded, and just five years before at the same call her baby had been taken from her as now her husband is taken and——”

“Doctor, if you knew all this before, why, in God’s name, did you let me wrong this little woman by implication even? You could have stopped it all. _Half_ what you have told me here would have held my hand.” And poor Pelham had sprung to his feet, and absolutely wringing his hands, was tramping up and down the floor.

“I did not even know that any one entertained such unjust suspicions until you had placed the matter in Captain Canker’s hands; but there is another matter,—Mrs. Treadwell’s letter.”

“Not a word more. I want no explanation. I want nothing further. Why has Truscott suppressed this? Why has he allowed me to suspect her, if he cared nothing for himself? Turner, _you_ know Truscott, how do you account for it?” And absolute misery was stamped on the flushed and honest face of the old soldier as he asked.

“Colonel, I hate to answer that, but you ask me and shall have an answer. Truscott had every right to expect you to use no middle-man in such a matter, but to bring the whole thing yourself to his notice. In refusing to say a word after you had permitted Canker to demand his resignation, he did just what I would have done, or any man of spirit. Indeed, it is only on her account that he permits the explanation to be made now.”

Then followed a long and earnest consultation, and at lunch-time, the officers gathering in the mess-room looked significantly at one another as Turner, Bucketts, and the doctor walked away, and Captain Canker was seen approaching the colonel’s office. That evening before retreat it had leaked out among the ladies, and was told around the garrison, that Mr. Truscott had been informed that if he would apologize to Captain Canker in the presence of his commanding officer and certain others the charges now pending against him would be withdrawn, and that Mr. Truscott had flatly refused to do anything of the kind.

Certain it is that there was some unexplained cheering and commotion among the men as they broke ranks after stables, and that the men in Mr. Ray’s troop were seen vehemently shaking hands with those in Tanner’s old command.

Truscott did not come to dinner, and in his absence there was no restraint on the tongues. Mr. Ray had the floor, and Mr. Ray had evidently been drinking more than was prudent, but he was lively as a cricket and all ablaze with enthusiasm.

“Apology be d—d! Of course he wouldn’t apologize. What’s Jack got to apologize for, I’d like to know? Because he put a head on a sneaking cur who insulted him outrageously and the sweetest woman in the regiment at the same time, God bless her! as He hasn’t particularly, but ought to all the same. Of course he wouldn’t apologize, and that man Canker’s a bigger ignoramus than I supposed to expect such a thing. Why, d—n it, there’s no such thing as an apology for a blow. Any babe in arms knows that in Kentucky, or any place where people live like Christians. You can’t apologize unless you _retract_. You can retract an affront, you can take back abuse, you can swallow your own words, if you’re in the wrong, but all the saints in heaven can’t take back a blow. There’s nothing for that but fight, if the other man has any fight left in him, and may the Lord forgive me if I ever thought to hear any other doctrine preached in a cavalry regiment!”

And thus expounded this verbose and excitable young disciple of the code to his hearers, and carried conviction with him.

“No, gentlemen,” he continued, “if Captain Canker wants satisfaction he can get it, and lots of it, and it’s his business or his friends to attend to that speedily if they propose attending to it at all; but if they don’t want any more fight, if they’re perfectly satisfied with getting squarely knocked out of time, why, we are: but don’t talk apology to Truscott unless somebody else wants to get floored. Mark my words, if Captain Canker has any decency left in him he’ll apologize on his own account, and I know two or three other gentlemen that would vastly improve their own status by apologizing themselves.”

Whereat Messrs. Hunter and Glenham looked very red and uneasy, but spoke not.

A wretched Christmas it was to everybody when it came around, bright, clear, and sparkling. The men had their elaborate dinner, except in Tanner’s troop, where, by vote of their own, the soldiers decided to have no festivity whatever, but they went in a body to the grave and decorated it with fresh pine-boughs and such rude ornaments as they could prepare. Colonel and Mrs. Pelham had intended giving a dinner to the bachelor officers of the garrison, some of them at least, but her ladyship gave out some days beforehand, and, if she had not, the battle royal which took place ’twixt her and her liege lord Christmas-eve would have incapacitated one or both for any enjoyment of the festival. There is no use in picturing that affair. It occurred after his interview with his officers and the complete establishment in his mind of Truscott’s innocence, and, of course, of Mrs. Tanner’s. Grace, fortunately, heard nothing of it. She had gone in to inquire after Mrs. Tanner, whom she found was sleeping quite naturally, and Mrs. Wilkins stole down-stairs and begged her to stay a while. And they, a strangely-assorted pair, had a long talk which was the stepping-stone to a better understanding between them, for Mrs. Wilkins was “coming out” in a light totally unexpected. But when Grace returned home she found that her mother had retired to her own room and was suffering from one of her wretched headaches, and during the entire day which followed madame saw fit not to emerge.

Glenham of course came in to spend Christmas-eve, and was manifestly ill at ease. So also came one or two of the younger ladies, and as a consequence it was not very long before the subject of Mr. Truscott’s arrest was alluded to. The colonel had shut himself up in his den, and the coast was clear, thought these searchers after information. It was the current belief that Grace was so completely in her father’s confidence that he had no hesitation in telling her all about the affairs of the garrison. “It must be delicious,” said Miss Blanche, “to know just exactly all about these fellows.” And finding in the few conversations she had enjoyed with Grace that that young lady was by no means confidential, she hit on the bold stroke of broaching the subject publicly, for Miss Pelham would hardly “snub” her under such circumstances.

“Isn’t it dreadful to think of Mr. Truscott’s being arrested just at this time?” she said, looking pointedly at Grace, yet addressing the remark to nobody in particular.

Finding that she was expected to reply, Miss Pelham calmly answered that it certainly was, and instantly changed the subject; but the other damsel was not to be rebuffed: she returned to the charge.

“Do you know, I think it’s just splendid in him not to apologize. Of course I don’t know what Captain Canker _could_ have said to make him so angry.” (Which was remarkable, considering the amount of information imparted in her letter to her friend at Prescott.) “Now they’ll _have_ to court-martial him, won’t they? You know (appealingly) I haven’t the faintest idea how such things are governed in the army.”

Grace colored vividly.

“It is a matter that I really know nothing about,” she replied, with grave courtesy. And Glenham, who had been nervously tossing over some music on the piano, came forward and begged her to sing. Whereat everybody else said, “Oh, _do_!” And as a means of putting an end to all such questioning she acceded, singing soft, low, sad music, and pleading inability to attempt the livelier and more difficult selections they would have been glad to extort from her. But when all were gone, she stole to her father’s lonely den, finding him drearily pretending to read. Worn and harassed he certainly looked; and she twined her arm around his neck and kissed him tenderly.

“What is it, papa?” she asked, relapsing into the pet name of her girlhood. “You look so worried. Is it anything you can tell me?”

He looked lovingly into her sweet, serious face. Then bowed his head.

“My darling, I fear that I have made a fearful mistake, and I know that I’ve done a grave injustice to one of my best officers.”

She knew well who was meant, but—wanted to be told.

“Who, father?”

“Mr. Truscott.”

There was a moment’s silence, and her heart was beating wildly.

“This affair with—with Captain Canker, do you mean?” she asked.

“Something far more serious. I cannot tell you, dear. But he is utterly and entirely innocent; more than that, he is even a truer and nobler friend and gentleman than even I supposed, and I had been led to deeply wrong him.”

Poor Grace! In bitter distress she crept to her room that night. Only on two occasions had she seen Truscott since his return from the scout. Once mingling his tears with little Rosalie, once kneeling by the lifeless form of his old friend and comrade. On the first occasion he did not see, on the second he would not see her. And she, despite the jealous doubts that had possessed her, despite her now detested engagement to Arthur Glenham, would have given worlds to recall her action and implore his forgiveness. But what could she do?

And now her father had virtually told her that all the accusations brought by Mrs. Pelham against Truscott were utterly unfounded. Even what she saw must have had some explanation, and she had not a friend to whom she could turn and seek the truth. She knew only too well now that it was useless to look to her mother for that. There was no merry Christmas this year for poor Grace. It is not worth while to picture her perplexity and distress, but that night she looked with far from friendly eyes at the class-ring Mr. Glenham had begged her to wear in acknowledgment of their engagement until the beautiful pledge he had ordered from San Francisco should arrive. Glenham was inordinately proud of that ring. With all its martial devices and heavy setting, he had selected an unusually beautiful and expensive stone on which to have engraved the motto of his class, and West Point had seen nothing handsomer in that line for years, and young women who were fond of appearing in public with the class-rings of their graduating admirers disported upon their fingers had made no little effort towards inducing Mr. Glenham to proffer his, but all to no purpose. Feminine fingers had never been encircled by it one instant until he proudly, humbly, joyously placed it upon hers, where it needed a guard-ring to keep it from slipping off; and this night she gazed upon its splendor with absolute aversion, then tore it from her finger and hid it from her sight.