After supper Elfie retired to her hut where, upon a bed of leaves, she slept comfortably, guarded on one side of her dwelling by the old minister, and on the other side by the young adjutant. CHAPTER XXVII. REQUIESCAT IN PACE. Shut out from them the bitter word, And serpent hiss of scorning, Nor let the storms of yesterday Disturb their quiet morning; Breathe over them forgetfulness Of all save deeds of kindness, And save to tears of pitying eyes, Press down their lids in blindness.—WHITTIER. The next day was devoted to a solemn duty. The dead were buried where they had fallen on the battle-field. All except Alberta and Vittorio. Our soldiers felt that they must find a grave in consecrated ground in which to place the poor woman, and also that they must lay beside her the husband for whom she so vainly died. So after they had given Christian burial to the heroic dead, they placed the remains of the Free Sword and his wife in an army hearse and conveyed them to a little, old, deserted country churchyard, some three miles distant on the road to W., where the chaplain of the regiment read over them the funeral service, and where they were finally laid side by side in their resting-place—not unwept. The tears of Elfie, who attended the funeral, fell like rain. And even Wing, who was charged with the business of the burial, was said to have dimmed the smart gold lace of his adjutant’s uniform with drops of sorrow. The wounded were tenderly laid in ambulances, and sent on to W. under an escort of one company of cavalry. As Elfie evinced the utmost impatience to return home, and as Colonel Rosenthal was anxious to be rid of all incumbrances, so that he might immediately go after Monck, he next morning sent Miss Fielding under a guard of honor, commanded by Adjutant Wing, to the Point of Rocks, from which she was to take the evening train to Washington. It was while waiting at a Union farm-house near the station, that Elfie learned the final ending of the picnic party. The old farmer informed her that after the guerrillas fled, leaving the excursionists on the hill, they—the excursionists—went down to look for their boat, with the intention of returning to the city by the same way in which they had come. But on reaching the foot of the hill and the side of the canal, they found that their boat had been robbed of all its movable effects, and then scuttled and sunk. The unfortunate creatures had nothing to do but to return to the top of the hill and lay down to sleep as well as they could in the open air. The next morning, cold, hungry, and cruelly stiff and sore in all their limbs, they set out to walk to the Point of Rocks, to wait for the train to Washington.