Miss Lou was not crying in her room. As the level rays of the sun shone into the wide old barn, making the straw in a mow doubly golden, and transforming even the dusty cobwebs into fairy lacework, she crossed the threshold and paused for the first time in her impulsive haste to find and thank the dying man of whom she had been told. All eyes turned wonderingly toward her as she stood for a moment in the sunshine, as unconscious of herself, of the marvellous touch of beauty bestowed by the light and her expression, as if she had flown from the skies. "Is there a soldier here named Yarry?" she began, then uttered a little inarticulate cry as she saw Captain Hanfield kneeling beside a man to whom all eyes directed her. "Oh, it's he," she sobbed, kneeling beside him also. "As soon as I heard I felt it was he who told me not to worry about him. Is--is he really dying?" "Yes, I hope so, Miss Baron," replied the captain gravely. "He couldn't live and it's time he had rest." The girl bent over the man, her hot tears falling on his face. He opened his eyes and looked vacantly at her for a moment or two, then smiled in recognition. It was the most pathetic smile she had ever imagined. "Don't worry," he whispered, "I'm just dozin' off." "Oh, my poor, brave hero!" she said brokenly, "I know, I know it all. God reward you, I can't." "Don't want no reward. I be--say, miss, don't wear--yourself--out fer us." She took his cold hand and bowed her forehead upon it, sobbing aloud in the overpowering sense of his self-forgetfulness. "O God!" she cried, "do for this brave, unselfish man what I cannot. When, WHEN can I forget such a thing as this! Oh, live, please live; we will take such good care of you." "There, there, little one, don't--take on--so about--me. Ain't wuth it. I be--Say, I feel better--easier. Glad--you spoke--good word to God--for me. I be--I mean, I think--He'll hear--sech as you. I'm--off now. Don't--wear--yourself--" Even in her inexperience she saw that he was dying, and when his gasping utterance ceased she had so supported his head that it fell back on her bosom. For a few moments she just cried helplessly, blinded with tears. Then she felt the burden of his head removed and herself lifted gently. "I suspected something like this when you left the table, Miss Baron," said Dr. Borden. "Oh, oh, oh, I feel as if he had died for me," she sobbed. "He would a died for you, miss," said Tom, drawing his sleeve across his eyes, "so would we all." "Miss Baron," resumed the doctor gravely, "remember poor Yarry's last words, 'Don't wear yourself--he couldn't finish the sentence, but you know what he meant. You must grant the request of one who tried to do what he could for you. As a physician also I must warn you to rest until morning. You can do more for these men and others by first doing as Yarry wished," and he led her away.