THREE months later the war seemed drawing toward an end, andChristie was dreaming happy dreams of home and rest with David,when, as she sat one day writing a letter full of good news to thewife of a patient, a telegram was handed to her, and tearing it openshe read:

"Captain Sterling dangerously wounded. Tell his wife to come atonce. E. WILKINS."

"No bad news I hope, ma'am?" said the young fellow anxiously, as hishalf-written letter fluttered to the ground, and Christie satlooking at that fateful strip of paper with all the strength andcolor stricken out of her face by the fear that fell upon her.

"It might be worse. They told me he was dying once, and when I gotto him he met me at the door. I'll hope for the best now as I didthen, but I never felt like this before," and she hid her face as ifdaunted by ominous forebodings too strong to be controlled.

In a moment she was up and doing as calm and steady as if her heartwas not torn by an anxiety too keen for words. By the time the newshad flown through the house, she was ready; and, coming down with noluggage but a basket of comforts on her arm, she found the hall fullof wan and crippled creatures gathered there to see her off, for nonurse in the hospital was more beloved than Mrs. Sterling. Many eyesfollowed her, - many lips blessed her, many hands were outstretchedfor a sympathetic grasp: and, as the ambulance went clattering away,many hearts echoed the words of one grateful ghost of a man, "TheLord go with her and stand by her as she's stood by us."

It was not a long journey that lay before her; but to Christie itseemed interminable, for all the way one unanswerable questionhaunted her, "Surely God will not be so cruel as to take David nowwhen he has done his part so well and the reward is so near."

It was dark when she arrived at the appointed spot; but ElishaWilkins was there to receive her, and to her first breathlessquestion, "How is David?" answered briskly:

"Asleep and doin' well, ma'am. At least I should say so, and Ipeeked at him the last thing before I started."

"Where is he?"

"In the little hospital over yonder. Camp warn't no place for him,and I fetched him here as the nighest, and the best thing I could dofor him."

"How is he wounded?"

"Shot in the shoulder, side, and arm."

"Dangerously you said?"

"No, ma'am, that warn't and ain't my opinion. The sergeant sent thattelegram, and I think he done wrong. The Captain is hit pretty bad;but it ain't by no means desperate accordin' to my way of thinkin',"replied the hopeful Wilkins, who seemed mercifully gifted with anunusual flow of language.

"Thank heaven! Now go on and tell me all about it as fast as youcan," commanded Christie, walking along the rough road so rapidlythat Private Wilkins would have been distressed both in wind andlimb if discipline and hardship had not done much for him.

"Well, you see we've been skirmishin' round here for a week, for thewoods are full of rebs waitin' to surprise some commissary storesthat's expected along. Contrabands is always comin' into camp, andwe do the best we can for the poor devils, and send 'em along wherethey'll be safe. Yesterday four women and a boy come: about asdesperate a lot as I ever see; for they'd been two days and a nightin the big swamp, wadin' up to their waists in mud and water, withnothin' to eat, and babies on their backs all the way. Every womanhad a child, one dead, but she'd fetched it, 'so it might be buriedfree,' the poor soul said."

Mr. Wilkins stopped an instant as if for breath, but the thought ofhis own "little chaps" filled his heart with pity for that bereavedmother; and he understood now why decent men were willing to be shotand starved for "the confounded niggers," as he once called them.

"Go on," said Christie, and he made haste to tell the little storythat was so full of intense interest to his listener.

"I never saw the Captain so worked up as he was by the sight of themwretched women. He fed and warmed 'em, comforted their poor scaredsouls, give what clothes we could find, buried the dead baby withhis own hands, and nussed the other little creeters as if they werehis own. It warn't safe to keep 'em more 'n a day, so when nightcome the Captain got 'em off down the river as quiet as he could. Meand another man helped him, for he wouldn't trust no one but himselfto boss the job. A boat was ready, - blest if I know how he gotit, - and about midnight we led them women down to it. The boy was astrong lad, and any of 'em could help row, for the current wouldtake 'em along rapid. This way, ma'am; be we goin' too fast foryou?"

"Not fast enough. Finish quick."

"We got down the bank all right, the Captain standing in the littlepath that led to the river to keep guard, while Bates held the boatstiddy and I put the women in. Things was goin' lovely when the poorgal who'd lost her baby must needs jump out and run up to thank theCaptain agin for all he'd done for her. Some of them sly rascals waswatchin' the river: they see her, heard Bates call out, 'Come back,wench; come back!' and they fired. She did come back like a shot,and we give that boat a push that sent it into the middle of thestream. Then we run along below the bank, and come out further downto draw off the rebs. Some followed us and we give it to 'emhandsome. But some warn't deceived, and we heard 'em firin' away atthe Captain; so we got back to him as fast as we could, but itwarn't soon enough. - Take my arm, Mis' Sterlin': it's kinder roughhere."

"And you found him?" -

"Lyin' right acrost the path with two dead men in front of him; forhe'd kep 'em off like a lion till the firin' brought up a lot of ourfellers and the rebs skedaddled. I thought he was dead, for by thestarlight I see he was bleedin' awful, - hold on, my dear, hold on tome, - he warn't, thank God, and looked up at me and sez, sez he, 'Arethey safe?' 'They be, Captain,' sez I. 'Then it's all right,' sezhe, smilin' in that bright way of his, and then dropped off as quietas a lamb. We got him back to camp double quick, and when thesurgeon see them three wounds he shook his head, and I mistrustedthat it warn't no joke. So when the Captain come to I asked him whatI could do or git for him, and he answered in a whisper, 'My wife.'"

For an instant Christie did "hold on" to Mr. Wilkins's arm, forthose two words seemed to take all her strength away. Then thethought that David was waiting for her strung her nerves and gaveher courage to bear any thing.

"Is he here?" she asked of her guide a moment later, as he stoppedbefore a large, half-ruined house, through whose windows dim lightsand figures were seen moving to and fro.

"Yes, ma'am; we've made a hospital of this; the Captain's got thebest room in it, and now he's got the best miss that's goin'anywheres. Won't you have a drop of something jest as a stand-bybefore you see him?"

"Nothing; take me to him at once."

"Here we be then. Still sleepin': that looks well."

Mr. Wilkins softly led the way down a long hall, opened a door, andafter one look fell back and saluted as the Captain's wife passedin.

A surgeon was bending over the low bed, and when a hoarse voice athis elbow asked:

"How is he?" The doctor answered without looking up:

"Done for: this shot through the lungs will finish him beforemorning I'm afraid."

"Then leave him to me: I am his wife," said the voice, clear andsharp now with the anguish those hard words had brought.

"Good God, why did no one tell me! My dear lady, I thought you werea nurse!" cried the poor surgeon rent with remorse for what nowseemed the brutal frankness of his answer, as he saw the white faceof the woman at his side, with a look in her eyes harder to see thanthe bitterest tears that ever fell.

"I am a nurse. If you can do nothing, please go and leave him to methe little while he has to live."

Without a word the surgeon vanished, and Christie was alone withDavid.

The instant she saw him she felt that there was no hope, for she hadseen too many faces wear the look his wore to be deceived even byher love. Lying with closed eyes already sunken by keen suffering,hair damp with the cold dew on his forehead, a scarlet spot oneither cheek, gray lines about the mouth, and pale lips parted bythe painful breaths that came in heavy gasps or fluttered fitfully.This was what Christie saw, and after that long look she knew thetruth, and sunk down beside the bed, crying with an exceeding bittercry:

"O David, O my husband, must I give you up so soon?"

His eyes opened then, and he turned his cheek to hers, whisperingwith a look that tried to be a smile, but ended in a sigh ofsatisfaction:

"I knew you'd come;" then, as a tearless sob shook her from head tofoot, he added steadily, though each breath cost a pang, "'Yes,dear, I must go first, but it won't be hard with you to help me doit bravely."

In that supremely bitter moment there returned to Christie's memorycertain words of the marriage service that had seemed so beautifulwhen she took part in it: "For better for worse, till death us dopart." She had known the better, so short, so sweet! This was theworse, and till death came she must keep faithfully the promise madewith such a happy heart. The thought brought with it unexpectedstrength, and gave her courage to crush down her grief, seal up hertears, and show a brave and tender face as she took that feeble handin hers ready to help her husband die.

He saw and thanked her for the effort, felt the sustaining power ofa true wife's heart, and seemed to have no other care, since she wasby him steadfast to the end. He lay looking at her with such sereneand happy eyes that she would not let a tear, a murmur, mar hispeace; and for a little while she felt as if she had gone out ofthis turbulent world into a heavenly one, where love reignedsupreme.

But such hours are as brief as beautiful, and at midnight mortalsuffering proved that immortal joy had not yet begun.

Christie had sat by many death-beds, but never one like this; for,through all the bitter pangs that tried his flesh, David's soulremained patient and strong, upheld by the faith that conquers painand makes even Death a friend. In the quiet time that went before,he had told his last wishes, given his last messages of love, andnow had but one desire, - to go soon that Christie might be sparedthe trial of seeing suffering she could neither lighten nor share.

"Go and rest, dear; go and rest," he whispered more than once. "LetWilkins come: this is too much for you. I thought it would beeasier, but I am so strong life fights for me inch by inch."

But Christie would not go, and for her sake David made haste to die.

Hour after hour the tide ebbed fast, hour after hour the man'spatient soul sat waiting for release, and hour after hour thewoman's passionate heart clung to the love that seemed drifting awayleaving her alone upon the shore. Once or twice she could not bearit, and cried out in her despair:

"No, it is not just that you should suffer this for a creature whosewhole life is not worth a day of your brave, useful, precious one!Why did you pay such a price for that girl's liberty?" she said, asthe thought of her own wrecked future fell upon her dark and heavy.

"Because I owed it; - she suffered more than this seeing her babydie; - I thought of you in her place, and I could not help doing it."

The broken answer, the reproachful look, wrung Christie's heart, andshe was silent: for, in all the knightly tales she loved so well,what Sir Galahad had rescued a more wretched, wronged, and helplesswoman than the poor soul whose dead baby David buried tenderlybefore he bought the mother's freedom with his life?

Only one regret escaped him as the end drew very near, and mortalweakness brought relief from mortal pain. The first red streaks ofdawn shone in the east, and his dim eyes brightened at the sight;

"Such a beautiful world!" he whispered with the ghost of a smile,"and so much good work to do in it, I wish I could stay and help alittle longer," he added, while the shadow deepened on his face. Butsoon he said, trying to press Christie's hand, still holding his:"You will do my part, and do it better than I could. Don't mourn,dear heart, but work; and by and by you will be comforted."

"DON'T MOURN, DEAR HEART, BUT WORK."

"I will try; but I think I shall soon follow you, and need nocomfort here," answered Christie, already finding consolation in thethought. "What is it, David?" she asked a little later, as she sawhis eyes turn wistfully toward the window where the rosy glow wasslowly creeping up the sky.

"I want to see the sun rise; - that used to be our happy time; - turnmy face toward the light, Christie, and we'll wait for it together."

An hour later when the first pale ray crept in at the low window,two faces lay upon the pillow; one full of the despairing grief forwhich there seems no balm; the other with lips and eyes of solemnpeace, and that mysterious expression, lovelier than any smile,which death leaves as a tender token that all is well with thenew-born soul.

To Christie that was the darkest hour of the dawn, but for Davidsunrise had already come.