Arnold stared angrily from me to Nason. “What is it you want? You bring this boy here, and then you stand around saying nothing! For God’s sake, either say what you’ve come here to say, or get along back to the army.”

“General,” I said, “Nathaniel’s been gone from his command for a year. He’s made a mistake—a terrible mistake: such a mistake that it’s almost killing him. It’s a mistake he’d do anything to wipe out. I want him to have a chance to do just that. If he’s given a chance, he’ll prove himself as valuable a man as you can find anywhere—valuable to you and valuable to the American cause.”

“That’s what you think, is it?”

“I know it! I never was surer of anything in my life.”

Arnold looked at Nason. “What do you think?”

“It ought to make him dependable. I’ll give him a try. He ought to be a good man.”

Arnold frowned at Nathaniel. “You hear what they say. Do you think I could count on you?”

Nathaniel’s hands were clenched on his knees. He made a gasping sound: then nodded abruptly.

“This damned leg!” Arnold groaned, as if just aware of it. “Here, give me that field-desk, somebody! Nason, get that field-desk! Open it and hold it so I can use it.”

He glared at us; then shot a quick glance across the desk at Ellen. “I had the impression, ma’am, that you were in love with Nathaniel Merrill, but I see I was mistaken.”

Ellen put her hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder. “I care for him very much. I care very much for him—and for his brother.”

Arnold spoke sternly. “His brother? Perhaps he has more than one? Which of his brothers do you mean? Not this one here, I trust. I’m sure you could never mean Captain Peter Merrill! That’s impossible, of course. Impossible!”

Ellen’s color was high, but she was brave. “No! There’s nothing impossible about it. But if I didn’t care for him—that, General, would be impossible.”

“So!” Arnold cried, and gave me a glance of disgust. “A lady’s man after all!”