Where was he now? Her interposition had been but for a few moments. The truth was certain to be discovered. There would be no ultimate escape possible for him. She heard shots on occasion nearer than Petersburg, in the city streets. What could they mean? Short, short would be his shrift if they caught him. Had they caught him? Certainly they must, if they had not. She realised with a thrill that she had given him an opportunity to escape and that he had refused it. The sending of that despatch had been more to him than life. Traitor, spy, Secret Service Agent--was there anything that could be said for him? At least he was faithful to his own idea of duty.
She had met Caroline Mitford waiting in the lower hall of the telegraph office, and the two, convoyed by old Martha, had come home together. Many curious glances had been thrown at them, but in these great movements that were toward, no one molested them. The younger girl had seen the agony in her friend's face. She had timidly sought to question her, but she had received no answer or no satisfaction to her queries. Refusing Caroline's proffered services when she reached home, Edith had gone straight to her own room and locked the door.
The affair had been irritating beyond expression to Mr. Arrelsford. It had taken him some time to establish his innocence and to get his release from General Randolph's custody. Meanwhile, everything that he had hoped to prevent had happened. To do him justice, he really loved Edith Varney, and the thought that her actions and her words had caused his own undoing and the failure of his carefully laid plans, filled him with bitterness, which he vented in increased animosity toward Thorne.
These were bitter moments to Mrs. Varney. She had become somewhat used to her husband being in the thick of things, but it was her boy now that was in the ranks. The noise of the cannon and the passing troops threw Howard into a fever of anxiety which was very bad for him.
And those were dreadful moments to Thorne. What had he done? He had risked everything, was ready to pay everything, would, indeed, be forced to do so in the end, and yet he had not done that which he had intended. Had he been false to his duty and to his country when he refused to send that telegram, being given the opportunity? He could not tell. The ethics of the question were beyond his present solution. The opportunity had come to him through a piece of sublime self-sacrifice on the part of the woman, who, knowing him thoroughly and understanding his plan and purpose, had yet perjured herself to save his life.