The mother opened the door; a tall figure slipped gently in; the door was closed softly after it again, and Judith was alone; for Crittenden still lay with his eyes closed, and the girl's face whitened with pity and flamed slowly as she slowly slipped forward and stood looking down at him. As she knelt down beside him, something that she held in her hand clanked softly against the bed and Crittenden opened his eyes. "Mother!" There was no answer. Judith had buried her face in her hands. A sob reached his ears and he turned quickly. "Judith," he said; "Judith," he repeated, with a quick breath. "Why, my God, you! Why--you--you've come to see me! you, after all--you!" He raised himself slowly, and as he bent over her, he saw his father's sword, caught tightly in her white hands--the old sword that was between him and Basil to win and wear--and he knew the meaning of it all, and he had to steady himself to keep back his own tears. "Judith!" His voice choked; he could get no further, and he folded his arms about her head and buried his face in her hair. XV The gray walls of Indian summer tumbled at the horizon and let the glory of many fires shine out among the leaves. Once or twice the breath of winter smote the earth white at dawn. Christmas was coming, and God was good that Christmas. Peace came to Crittenden during the long, dream-like days--and happiness; and high resolve had deepened. Day by day, Judith opened to him some new phase of loveliness, and he wondered how he could have ever thought that he knew her; that he loved her, as he loved her now. He had given her the locket and had told her the story of that night at the hospital. She had shown no surprise, and but very little emotion; moreover, she was silent. And Crittenden, too, was silent, and, as always, asked no questions. It was her secret; she did not wish him to know, and his trust was unfaltering. Besides, he had his secrets as well. He meant to tell her all some day, and she meant to tell him; but the hours were so full of sweet companionship that both forbore to throw the semblance of a shadow on the sunny days they spent together. It was at the stiles one night that Judith handed Crittenden back the locket that had come from the stiffened hand of the Rough Rider, Blackford, along with a letter, stained, soiled, unstamped, addressed to herself, marked on the envelope "Soldier's letter," and countersigned by his Captain.