“Oh! Heaven of Heavens!” exclaimed Erminie, sobbing for pity. “So the same ball killed them both; but not at the same instant. _He_, in his great sorrow, never felt his own wound! He bore her off the field, and sat down with her under the trees at the entrance of an old turnpike road. His disappearance seemed to decide the fortunes of the day. The guerrillas lost hope and fled. Some fled down the old turnpike road; and, seeing Corsoni sitting there with his dead wife in his arms, they urged him to get up and fly for his life; but he paid no attention to them. They told him that our cavalry were in hot pursuit, and would certainty capture him if he should remain where he was. But he scarcely seemed to hear their words. They reminded him that when he should be taken an ignominious death awaited him. He did not seem to care for that or for anything on earth but the face of his dead wife, for he never lifted his eyes from it.” “His heart must have been broken!” wept Erminie. “It was! Justin says it would have moved his bitterest enemy to compassion to have seen him when he was captured. Some of our cavalry men rode up and very naturally swore at him, and called him hard names, and ordered him to yield. He did not return railing for railing, but without lifting his face from the still face of his wife, he answered simply, ‘I yield.’ Justin rode up, and, seeing this sight, ordered the men to withdraw; and then he himself advanced to receive Corsoni’s sword. But first he spoke some few words of sympathy and compassion for the prisoner’s awful sorrow. Corsoni did not once reply; but laid the body of his beloved wife down and arose to deliver up his sword. In the act of doing so—” Elfie broke down and wept convulsively for some moments before she could resume her story. —“The blood began to spout like a fountain from a wound in his chest. And Justin said, ‘You are hurt.’ And he answered ‘Am I? I didn’t know.’ And with these words on his lips he fell dead beside his dead wife.” Erminie was weeping; and it was some time before she could speak. When she did, it was to say: “Perhaps theirs was the best fate that could have befallen them—I mean under the dreadful circumstances.” “We all thought so. They were buried side by side in an old country churchyard. It spoke well for the tenderness of our poor soldiers that, tired as they were, they were willing to march three miles to lay the poor woman’s remains in consecrated ground; and they laid her husband’s body beside her.” “May they rest in peace!” said Erminie, solemnly. “Amen,” breathed Elfie. The two girls fell into a thoughtful silence until Erminie arose to ring the bell for Catherine to remove the tea service. And then, as it was twelve o’clock, the friends kissed each other good night, and Elfie went to her own old room that Catherine had prepared for her. CHAPTER XXIX. ELFIE’S VISIT TO LITTLE MIM.