And for the present--I am sorry to say you are
relieved of your command."
He turned away, and Brant closed his eyes. With them it seemed to
him that he closed his career. No one would ever understand his
explanation--even had he been tempted to give one, and he knew he never
would. Everything was over now! Even this wretched bullet had not struck
him fairly, and culminated his fate as it might! For an instant, he
recalled his wife's last offer to fly with him beyond the seas--beyond
this cruel injustice--but even as he recalled it, he knew that flight
meant the worst of all--a half-confession! But she had escaped! Thank
God for that! Again and again in his hopeless perplexity this comfort
returned to him,--he had saved her; he had done his duty. And harping
upon this in his strange fatalism, it at last seemed to him that this
was for what he had lived--for what he had suffered--for what he had
fitly ended his career. Perhaps it was left for him now to pass
his remaining years in forgotten exile--even as his father had--his
father!--his breath came quickly at the thought--God knows! perhaps as
wrongfully accused! It may have been a Providence that she had borne him
no child, to whom this dreadful heritage could be again transmitted.
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