CHAPTER XVI. WAS IT TREASON? Sad, anxious days to Mara Morland followed her return from that eventful trip to Dalton. Her grandfather sank fast from the wound he received that morning and it soon became evident, even to Mara, that he had but a few hours to live. “I do not mind dying,” he said. “I have lived far beyond the age of man, and I have felt I must soon be called home. It is for you that I fear, my child. I dare not contemplate your fate.” She tried to brighten his spirits with words of cheer. He slowly shook his head. “I see but one course for you to follow,” he said finally. “Harry cannot offer you any protection, and to remain here would be rashness. I see well enough now that the old place will be devastated ere long. Ay, I had rather die than to live to see that. And it is surely coming. Mara, are you listening, child?” “Yes, grandpa.” “You had better go to your Cousin Randolph’s in Woodsville. You will be safer there. I wish Harry was here. Brave boy, I never shall see him any more. Tell him that I thought of him in my last moments.” He said but little more after this and the hue of life faded fast from his countenance. He had lain a long time motionless, when there was a nervous twitching at his mouth and his closed eyes opened. “Mara, where are you?” “Here, dear grandpa.” “See, his brow lightens with the touch of death,” whispered one of the guards to the others. “Mara,” cried the dying man, huskily, “I have had such a vision, and things appeared so different. I see our mistake now. The flag of the South will yet trail in the dust and the stars and stripes in brighter luster than at Yorktown or New Orleans will wave over the country three times saved. It is right. ’Twas the same starry banner that my father fought for under the gallant Sumpter, and which I followed under General Jackson at New Orleans. Long may it wave, to glory undim----” With the last word quivering upon his lips, his upraised arm fell, and his voice died to a low gasp. A minute later his spirit had fled from the scenes of war. The guards had looked upon each other with wonder as they listened to the words that were freighted with so much of patriotism, so much of evil to at least one of the listeners--the innocent maiden whose fair countenance was wet with tears. “Treason! treason!” they cried as in one voice. “We ought to have hung the old traitor! Let’s make an example of----” “Hold!” exclaimed Boyd Wyman from his couch in an adjoining apartment. “Do nothing rash. They were but the ravings of a wandering mind. Let him rest in death. For the girl’s sake be merciful.” The scout’s words were not in vain. The soldiers curbed their anger and the dead was left in peace. The sight of the poor girl’s grief moved them to sympathy and kindness. Under their directions the body was prepared for a decent burial and finally, a day later, was borne to its last rest.