He glanced at Broussard's face and saw there deep agitation and distress.

"Lawrence has come back," continued Broussard.

Then he stopped, as if unable to keep on, and taking out his handkerchief, wiped away drops upon his forehead, so deadly white under his black hair.

Colonel Fortescue remained silent. He saw that Broussard had something to tell that racked his soul. Broussard sighed heavily, and after a pause spoke again:

"I found Lawrence in San Francisco; he was trying to work his way back to Fort Blizzard. I gave him the money to come and came here with him. He wishes to give himself up and is willing to take his punishment. He got frightened at striking McGillicuddy and deserted."

"Do I understand that Lawrence was returning voluntarily?" asked the Colonel.

"Yes, sir--voluntarily. He saw my arrival in the San Francisco newspapers and came straight to my hotel. If I ever saw a man crazy with remorse, it was Lawrence. His sobs and cries were terrible to hear. He knew nothing of his wife and child, and that, too, was helping to drive him to madness."

"His wife and child are still here," said Colonel Fortescue. "Lawrence's disappearance has nearly killed his wife; that's always the way with these faithful souls who do no wrong themselves. But somebody else always does wrong enough for both. Where is Lawrence now?"

"At the block house, a mile away," replied Broussard. "I wished to see you before Lawrence gives himself up."

Broussard's strange agitation was increasing. Colonel Fortescue took up a newspaper and glanced at it, to give Broussard a chance to recover himself. In a minute or two Broussard managed to speak calmly.

"You remember, sir," he said, "that I asked you to take my word there was nothing wrong in my a.s.sociation with Lawrence and his wife."

"I remember quite well," answered Colonel Fortescue, "I never doubted your word."

"Thank you," said Broussard. Once more he wiped the cold drops from his forehead, and continued in a low voice, tremulous and often broken.

"I told you that Lawrence and I had been playmates in our boyhood, although he is much older than I. Sir, Lawrence is my half-brother--the son of my mother. She was an angel on earth, and she is now an angel in Heaven. If heavenly spirits can suffer, my mother suffers this day that her son should have deserted from his duty."

Never had Colonel Fortescue felt greater pity for a man than for Broussard then. The shame of confessing that his mother's son had forfeited his honor was like death itself to Broussard.

"But there is joy in Heaven over a penitent sinner," said Colonel Fortescue, who believed in G.o.d, and was neither afraid nor ashamed to say so.

Broussard bowed his head.

"My mother--G.o.d bless her--was the very spirit of honor. She was the daughter of an officer. When I was a little chap and said I wanted to be a soldier, she would tell me the stories of the Spartan mothers, who hade their sons return with their shields or on them. Thank G.o.d, she was taken away before dishonor fell upon her eldest son. She thought him dead, and so did I, until last January, when Lawrence told me, the night before I left this post, who he really was. When I met him in San Francisco I told him I would come with him here to give himself up, that I would acknowledge him for my half-brother, that I would sit by him at his court-martial and go to the door of the military prison with him. He begged me to keep our relationship secret for the sake of our mother's memory."

Colonel Fortescue held out his hand, and grasped that of Broussard.

"You speak like a man," he said, "but Lawrence is right in keeping the relationship a secret, and it shows that he understands the height from which he has fallen. Does his wife know of the relationship?"

"Yes, sir," Broussard replied. "I thought it best to tell her. But she kept the secret well. My brother's wife is worthy of my mother."

"There are many heroic women in the world," said Colonel Fortescue.

"True," answered Broussard. "My sister-in-law was glad when my brother enlisted. She said it was a good thing for him, and he undoubtedly did better at this post than he had done for a long time. And his wife, who was born and bred to luxury, stood by my brother and tried to save him.

She worked and slaved for him harder than any private's wife I ever saw.

She never uttered a reproach to him. Each day she mounted a Calvary. I could kiss the hem of that woman's gown, in reverence for her."

"So could I," said Colonel Fortescue.

"Of course," continued Broussard, "I told her and wrote her that neither she nor her child should ever suffer. I have sent her money--all that was needed, as I have something besides my pay."

The Colonel, recalling the motors, the oriental rugs, the grand piano, and other articles _de luxe_, which Broussard had once possessed, thought Broussard had a trifle too much beside his pay.

"I don't think she has had much use for money since her husband deserted," said Colonel Fortescue. "She has been constantly ill. My wife and daughter and the other ladies at the post have done everything possible for her, and Sergeant McGillicuddy took the boy. McGillicuddy feels himself responsible for Lawrence running away. He said something exasperating to Lawrence, who struck him in a fit of rage, and then ran away."

"So my sister-in-law wrote, or rather Miss Fortescue wrote for her."

"The army is the place for good hearts," said the Colonel, well knowing what he was talking about.

As Colonel Fortescue spoke, a man was seen, in the fast falling dusk, to pa.s.s the window. The next moment a tap came at the door, and when Colonel Fortescue answered, the door opened and Lawrence walked in.

The Colonel, who had watched Lawrence closely, saw a subtle change in him. He held his head up, and his face, always handsome, had lost the dissipated, reckless look that dissipated and reckless men readily acquire. His hair and mustache, which a year before had been coal black, were now quite grey; he seemed another man than he had once been. He saluted the Colonel, and said quietly:

"I have come, sir, to give myself up--I am the man, John Lawrence, who struck Sergeant McGillicuddy last January, and deserted."

"You were a great fool," replied the Colonel, "I think it was a clear case of a fool's panic."

"All I have to say, sir," said Lawrence, after a moment, "is, that I had no intention of deserting until I struck the Sergeant and got frightened.

And I've been trying to get back for the last two months. Mr. Broussard can tell you all about it."

"Mr. Broussard has told me all about it," said the Colonel. "Consider yourself under arrest until nine o'clock tomorrow morning, when you will report at the headquarters building. Meanwhile, go to your wife; she is a million times too good for you."

"I know it, sir," replied Lawrence.

"And my wife is a million times too good for me," added the Colonel, reflectively.

Lawrence went out and Broussard rose to go.

"You have not asked me to consider this talk as confidential," said the Colonel, "nevertheless, I shall so consider it. As your Colonel, I advise and require that you should say nothing about Lawrence's relationship to you. This much is due your mother's memory."

"Thank you, sir," replied Broussard, a great load lifted from his heart.

Broussard did not wish to go at once to Mrs. Lawrence; she should have one hour alone with her husband. Nor did he care to go to the officers'

club at that moment. He walked toward the quarters of the non-commissioned officers, scarcely noticing where his steps led. As he pa.s.sed the McGillicuddy quarters, the door opened, and little Ronald ran out bareheaded. He recognized Broussard, and Broussard, feeling strongly and strangely the call of the blood, took the boy in his arms and covered his little face with kisses much to the lad's surprise, and sent him to the house. The next minute, Broussard came face to face with Sergeant McGillicuddy.

The Sergeant, who did not often smile in those days, smiled when he saw Broussard.

"But, Mr. Broussard, you don't look quite fit," said the Sergeant. "The Philippines, drat 'em, ain't good for the complexion."

"I know I look like the devil," replied Broussard, "but I'm on sick leave and I hope Fort Blizzard is the right kind of a climate for me. By the way, the man Lawrence, who deserted in January, has come back. We travelled from San Francisco together. He has already given himself up--voluntarily, you know."

In the gloom of the November twilight Broussard could not see the Sergeant's face clearly. There was a bench close by, on the edge of the asphalt walk, and the Sergeant dropped rather than sat upon it.

"Excuse me, sir," he said to Broussard, "but the news you give me takes all my nerve away, and yet it's the best news I ever heard in my life.

You know, sir, it was some words of mine--and G.o.d knows I never meant to harm Lawrence--that made him strike me, and then he got scared and----"

"I know all about it," replied Broussard, sitting down on the bench by the Sergeant. "Of course, you felt pretty bad about it. Any man would."