When Miss Lou returned to the house supper was ready and she sat down weary, saddened and preoccupied by the scenes she had witnessed.

"You are going beyond your strength," said Captain Maynard, who had watched her coming back from the Federal wounded. "Cannot you be content to confine your ministrations to your friends only?"

"For once I can agree with Captain Maynard," Whately added stiffly. "I don't think it's right for you, cousin, to be going among those rough, brutal fellows."

Instantly her anger flamed at the injustice of the remark and she answered hotly, "I've found no rough, brutal fellows among the Yankees."

All smiled at her words, and Ackley remarked to one of the Union surgeons, "Dr. Borden, I thought our men could hold their own pretty well with the Army in Flanders, but you Yanks, I reckon, surpass all military organizations, past or present. There was one man especially who fairly made the night lurid and left a sulphurous odor after him when he was brought in. It would be rather rough on us all if we were where he consigned us with a vim that was startling. I certainly hope that Miss Baron is not compelled to hear any such language."

"I appeal to Miss Baron herself," said Dr. Borden, "if she has been offended in this respect to-day?"

"No, indeed, I have not," replied the girl indignantly. "I never was treated with more courtesy. I have not heard a rough word from the Yankees even when they did not know I was near, and that is more than I can say of our own men. Fight the Yankees all you please, but don't do them injustice."

In spite of the girl's flushed, incensed face, there was an explosion of laughter. "Pardon me, Miss Baron," said Ackley, "but you can't know how droll your idea of injustice to the Yankees seems to us. That you have such an idea, however, is a credit to you and to them also, for they must have been behaving themselves prodigiously."

"Yes, Dr. Ackley," replied Borden emphatically, "Miss Baron's impressions ARE a credit to her and to my patients. They promptly recognized her motives and character, and for her sake they pledged themselves that while here, where she is one of the nurses, they would not use language at any time which they would not have their mothers hear. That very man you speak of, who swore so last night, believes himself dying from his effort at self-restraint. This is not true, for he would have died anyhow, but his death is hastened by his effort. He has been in agony all day. Opiates make him worse, so there is no use of giving them. But I can tell you, no man in your Confederacy ever did a braver thing than he is doing this minute to show his respect for this young lady who has shown kindness to his comrades. I can assure you, Lieutenant Whately, that you need have no fears about your cousin when visiting my patients."

"What's the name of the soldier of whom you speak?" Miss Lou asked eagerly.

"He is called Yarry. I don't know any other name yet—been so busy dressing wounds."

"Thank you," faltered the girl, rising, her face showing signs of strong emotion.

"Oh, Louise! finish your supper," expostulated Mrs. Whately. "You must not let these scenes take so strong a hold"—but she was out of hearing. "I fear it's all going to be too much for her," sighed the lady in conclusion.

Mr. Baron and his wife exchanged grim glances from the head and foot of the table, as much as to say, "She has shaken off our control and we are not responsible," but Ackley remarked, "I agree with you, Dr. Borden, that it's fine to see a girl show such a spirit, and I congratulate you that your men are capable of appreciating it. By the way, Mrs. Whately, I have put her, with you, in charge of young Waldo and truly hope that among us we can bring him through."

"Mrs. Whately," said Captain Maynard, "I reckon more than one of us begin to regret already that we were not so desperately wounded as to need your attention and that of Miss Baron. We must remember, however, that she is not accustomed to these scenes, and I think we must try to make her forget them at the table. I suppose in the kindness of her heart she is now crying in her room over that Yankee." Whately shot a savage glance at the speaker which plainly implied, "It's none of your business where she is." Suddenly rising, he departed also, his mother's eyes following him anxiously.

Miss Lou was not crying in her room. As the level rays of the sun shone into the wide old barn, making the straw in a mow doubly golden, and transforming even the dusty cobwebs into fairy lacework, she crossed the threshold and paused for the first time in her impulsive haste to find and thank the dying man of whom she had been told. All eyes turned wonderingly toward her as she stood for a moment in the sunshine, as unconscious of herself, of the marvellous touch of beauty bestowed by the light and her expression, as if she had flown from the skies.

"Is there a soldier here named Yarry?" she began, then uttered a little inarticulate cry as she saw Captain Hanfield kneeling beside a man to whom all eyes directed her. "Oh, it's he," she sobbed, kneeling beside him also. "As soon as I heard I felt it was he who told me not to worry about him. Is—is he really dying?"

"Yes, I hope so, Miss Baron," replied the captain gravely. "He couldn't live and it's time he had rest."

The girl bent over the man, her hot tears falling on his face. He opened his eyes and looked vacantly at her for a moment or two, then smiled in recognition. It was the most pathetic smile she had ever imagined. "Don't worry," he whispered, "I'm just dozin' off."

"Oh, my poor, brave hero!" she said brokenly, "I know, I know it all.
God reward you, I can't."

"Don't want no reward. I be—say, miss, don't wear—yourself—out fer us."

She took his cold hand and bowed her forehead upon it, sobbing aloud in the overpowering sense of his self-forgetfulness. "O God!" she cried, "do for this brave, unselfish man what I cannot. When, WHEN can I forget such a thing as this! Oh, live, please live; we will take such good care of you."

"There, there, little one, don't—take on—so about—me. Ain't wuth it.
I be—Say, I feel better—easier. Glad—you spoke—good word to
God—for me. I be—I mean, I think—He'll hear—sech as you. I'm—off
now. Don't—wear—yourself—"

Even in her inexperience she saw that he was dying, and when his gasping utterance ceased she had so supported his head that it fell back on her bosom. For a few moments she just cried helplessly, blinded with tears. Then she felt the burden of his head removed and herself lifted gently.

"I suspected something like this when you left the table, Miss Baron," said Dr. Borden.

"Oh, oh, oh, I feel as if he had died for me," she sobbed.

"He would a died for you, miss," said Tom, drawing his sleeve across his eyes, "so would we all."

"Miss Baron," resumed the doctor gravely, "remember poor Yarry's last words, 'Don't wear yourself—he couldn't finish the sentence, but you know what he meant. You must grant the request of one who tried to do what he could for you. As a physician also I must warn you to rest until morning. You can do more for these men and others by first doing as Yarry wished," and he led her away.

They had not gone far before they met Uncle Lusthah. The girl stopped and said, "Doctor, won't you let Uncle Lusthah bury him to-morrow down by the run? I'll show him the place."

"Yes, Miss Baron, we all will do anything you wish if you only rest to-night. I tell you frankly you endanger yourself and your chance to do anything more for the wounded by continuing the strain which these scenes put upon you."

"I reckon you're right," she said, "I feel as if I could hardly stand."

"I know. Take my arm and go at once to your room."

On the way they encountered Whately. "Cousin! where on earth have you been? You look ready to faint."

His presence and all that he implied began to steady her nerves at once, but she made no reply.

"She has witnessed a painful scene, Lieutenant," began the surgeon.

"You have no business to permit her to witness such scenes," Whately interrupted sternly. "You should see that she's little more than an inexperienced child and—"

"Hush, sir," said Miss Lou. "Who has given you the right to dictate to me or to this gentleman? I'm in no mood for any more such words, cousin. To-day, at least, no one has taken advantage of my inexperience. Good-evening," and she passed on, leaving him chafing in impatient anger and protest.

At the house Mrs. Whately began expostulations also, but the girl said, "Please don't talk to me now. By and by I will tell you what will touch all the woman in your heart."

"I earnestly suggest," added Dr. Borden, "that you take Miss Baron to her room, and that nothing more be said to disturb her. She is overwrought and has reached the limit of endurance."

The lady had the tact to acquiesce at once. After reaching her room
Miss Lou exclaimed, "But I have not been to young Waldo."

"I have," replied her aunt, "and will see him again more than once before I retire. Louise, if you would not become a burden yourself at this time you must do as the doctor says."

Within an hour the girl was sleeping and her nature regaining the strength and elasticity of youth.

As Whately stood fuming where his cousin had left him, Perkins approached for the first time since they had parted in anger the night before.

"I reck'n Miss Baron's gone over ter the inemy," remarked the overseer.

"What do you mean?"

"Look yere, Leftenant, what's the use o' you bein' so gunpowdery with me? What's the use, I say? I mout be of some use ter you ef you wuz civil."

"Of what use were you last night? You allowed my prisoner to be carried off right under your nose."

"Who carried 'im off? Answer that."

"Why, some gawk of a Yank that you were too stupid to tell from me."

"P'raps hit was, p'raps hit wasn't."

"Who else could it be?"

"I s'picion who it was, but I'm not goin' ter talk to one who's got nothin' better to give me 'n uggly words."

"You don't mean to say—"

"I don't mean to say nothin' till I know who I'm talkin' ter."

Whately gave a long, low whistle and then muttered "Impossible!"

"Oh, sut'ny," remarked Perkins ironically.

The two men gave each other a long searching look; then Perkins resumed, "That's right, Leftenant, take yer bearin's. I don't see ez you kin do me any special good, ner harm nuther. Ef yer want no news or help from me, we kin sheer off right yere en now."

"I say your suspicion is absurd," resumed Whately, as if arguing with himself. "When the alarm, caused by firing, came last night, it happened she was in her room and was badly frightened."

"What time did the alarm happen?"

"About two o'clock."

"Wal, about midnight a figger that favored you 'mazingly, yes, ter yer very walk, came up boldly en sez ter me, nodding at the Yank, 'Leave 'im ter me.' The figger wasn't jes' dressed like you in 'Federate uniform, but I kin a'most swear the figger had on them clo's and that hat you're a wearin' now; arm in sling, too. What's mo', when I thought hit over I was cock sure the figger wuz shorter'n you air. I don't believe there's a Yank livin' that could a fooled me last night, 'less he had yer clo's on en yer walk."

"My uniform and hat hung on the chairs beside me, just where they had been put when I went to sleep."

"Jes' tell me ef the do' o' yer room wuz locked."

"I wasn't in a room. I slept at the end of the hall."

"Then enybody could git 'em en put 'em back while you wuz asleep."

"She couldn't knock you senseless. You're talking wild."

"I've schemed that out. Thar's tracks in the gyardin not so blinded but they kin give a hint ter a blind hoss. Thar's a track nigh whar I fell mighty like what that infernal nigger Chunk ud make. Beyond, ez ef some uns had hidden in the bushes, right in the gyarden bed, air two little woman-like tracks en two men tracks."

Whately ground his teeth and muttered an oath.

"I don't s'pose I kin prove anything 'clusive," resumed Perkins, "en I don't s'pose it ud be best ef I could. Ef she was up ter such deviltry, of co'se you don't want hit gen'ly known. Bigger ossifers 'n you ud have ter notice it. Ef I was in yu shoes howsomever, in huntin' shy game, I could use sech a clar s'picion agin her en be mo' on my gyard inter the bargain."

"I can use it and will," said Whately, sternly. "Perkins, keep your eyes wide open in my behalf. If that Yankee or Chunk ever come within our reach again—the nigger stole my horse and brought the Yank here too in time to prevent the wedding, I believe."

"Reck'n he did, Leftenant."

"Well, he and his master may be within our reach again. We had better not be seen much together. I will reward you well for any real service," and he strode away in strong perturbation.

"Hang your reward," muttered Perkins. "You think you're goin' ter use me when the boot's on t'other foot. You shall pay me fer doin' my work. I couldn't wish the gal nuthin' worse than ter marry you. That ud satisfy my grudge agin her, but ef I get my claws on that nigger en dom'neerin' Yank of a master"—his teeth came together after the grim fashion of a bulldog, by way of completing his soliloquy.

The spring evening deepened from twilight into dusk, the moon rose and shone with mild radiance over the scene that had abounded in gloom, tragedy and adventure the night before. The conflict which then had taken place now caused the pathetic life-and-death struggles occurring in and about the old mansion. In the onset of battle muscle and the impulse to destroy dominated; now the heart, with its deep longings, its memories of home and kindred, the soul with its solemn thoughts of an unknown phase of life which might be near, came to the fore, rendering the long, doubtful straggle complex indeed.

The stillness was broken only by the steps and voices of attendants and the irrepressible groans of those who watched for the day with hope that waxed and waned as the case might be. Uncle Lusthah yearned over the Federal wounded with a great pity, the impression that they were suffering for him and his people banishing sleep. He hovered among them all night long, bringing water to fevered lips and saying a word of Christian cheer to any who would listen.

Miss Lou wakened with the dawn and recognized with gladness that her strength and courage for work had been restored. Even more potent than thoughts of Scoville was the impulse to be at work again, especially among those with whom she inevitably associated him. Dressing hastily, she went first to see the old Confederate colonel. He was evidently failing fast Ackley and an attendant were watching him. He looked at the girl, smiled and held out his hand. She took it and sat down beside him.

"Ah!" he said feebly, "this is a good deal better than dying alone. Would you mind, my child, writing some things I would like to say to my family?"

Miss Lou brought her portfolio and tearfully received his dying messages.

"Poor little girl!" said the colonel, "you are witnessing scenes very strange to you. Try to keep your heart tender and womanly, no matter what you see. Such tears as yours reveal the power to help and bless, not weakness. I can say to YOU all the sacred, farewell words which would be hard to speak to others."

Brokenly, with many pauses from weakness, he dictated his last letter, and she wrote his words as well as she could see to do so. "They will be all the sweeter and more soothing for your tears, my dear," he said.

He kept up with wonderful composure until he came to his message to "little Hal," his youngest child. Then the old soldier broke down and reached out his arms in vain yet irrepressible longing. "Oh, if I could kiss the little fellow just once before—" he moaned.

For a few moments he and the girl at his side just wept together, and then the old man said almost sternly, "Tell him to honor his mother and his God, to live for the South, for which his father died. Say, if he will do this he shall have my blessing, not without. Now, my child, I trust this letter to you. Good-by and God bless you. I wish to be alone a little while and face the last enemy calmly."

As she knelt down and kissed him tears again rushed to his eyes and he murmured, "That was good and sweet of you, my child. Keep your heart simple and tender as it is now. Good-by."

Returning to her room with the portfolio she met her cousin in the upper hall. He fixed his eyes searchingly upon her and with the air of one who knew very much began, "Cousin Lou, my eyes are not so often blinded with tears as yours, yet they see more perhaps than you are aware of. I'm willing to woo you as gallantly as can any man, but you've got to keep some faith with me as the representative of our house and of the cause which, as a Southern girl, should be first always in its claims."

Her heart fluttered, for his words suggested both knowledge and a menace. At the same time the scenes she had passed through, especially the last, lifted her so far above his plane of life that she shrank from him with something very like contempt.

"Do you know what I have been writing?" she asked sternly.

"I neither know nor care. I only wish you to understand that you cannot trifle with me nor wrong me with impunity."

"Oh!" she cried, with a strong repellant gesture, "why can't YOU see and understand? You fairly make me loathe the egotism which, in scenes like these, can think only of self. As if I had either time or inclination to be trifling with you, whatever you mean by that. Brave men are dying heroically and unselfishly, thinking of others, while 'I, me and gallant wooing,' combined with vague threats against one whom you are in honor bound to protect, are the only words on your lips. How can you be so unmanly? What are you, compared with that noble old colonel whose last words I have just received? If you care a straw for my opinion, why are you so foolish as to compel me to draw comparisons? Do, for manhood's sake, forget yourself for once."

He was almost livid from rage as he replied harshly, "You'll rue these words!"

She looked at him scornfully as she said, "It's strange, but your words and expression remind me of Perkins. He might make you a good ally."

In his confusion and anger he blurted out, "Little wonder you think of him. You and that accursed nigger, Chunk—"

"Hush!" she interrupted in a low, imperious voice, "hush, lest as representative of our house you disgrace yourself beyond hope." And she passed quickly to her room.

Within less than an hour he was asking himself in bitter self-upbraiding, "What have I gained? What can I do? Prefer charges against my own cousin which I cannot prove? Impossible!—Oh, I've been a fool again. I should have kept that knowledge secret till I could use it for a definite purpose. I'll break her spirit yet."

If he had seen her after she reached her room he might have thought it broken then. Vague dread of the consequences of an act which, from his words, she believed he knew far more about than he did, mingled with her anger and feelings of repugnance. "Oh," she moaned, "it was just horrible; it was coming straight down from the sublime to the contemptible. That noble old colonel took me to the very gate of heaven. Now I'm fairly trembling with passion and fear. Oh, why will Cousin Mad always stir up the very worst of my feelings! I'd rather suffer and die as poor Yarry did than marry a man who WILL think only of his little self at such a time as this!"