“Abe, I want you to come with me now and get the sick soldier. Drive through the lane until you reach the road; then drive straight to your house. The road is not much frequented, and you will not be apt to meet any one at this time of night. If you do, say nothing. Leave the soldier when you get home, drive straight back the way you came. Turn the horses into the pasture, put the harness and carriage where you found them. Be careful and make no noise. When you have done this go home again and be sure you get there before daylight. It’s a hard night’s work I have put on you, Abe, but I will pay you well for it. Now, take off your boots and come with me.” The obedient fellow did as he was bid, and followed Joyce into the house and to Calhoun’s room. “Take him to the carriage,” whispered Joyce. The stalwart Abe took Calhoun in his arms as if he had been a child, and carried him to the carriage. “Now, Abe, remember and do just as I told you,” said Joyce. “Yes, Missy, I ’member ebberyting.” She went to the side of the carriage, arranged the pillows and comforts around Calhoun, and then gave him her hand. “Good-bye,” she whispered; “may God keep you safe.” The hand was cold as death, and Calhoun felt that she was trembling violently. “Joyce! Joyce! is this to be our leave-taking?” “Yes,” she whispered. “Are you not coming to see me where I am going?” “No, I dare not; we must not see each other again until—until the war is over.” “Without a kiss, Joyce. Joyce, I—” “Hush! you have no right to ask for one, I much less right to give it. Come when the war is over, and then”—Her voice broke, and she turned and fled into the darkness. How Joyce got back into the house she never knew. She fell on her bed half-unconscious. The strain upon her had been terrible, and the effect might have been serious if tears had not come to her relief. After a violent paroxysm of sobbing, she grew calmer, and tired nature asserted itself, and she fell asleep. It was yet early morning when she was aroused by a cry from Miss Goodsen, and that lady came rushing into her room, wringing her hands and crying, “He is gone! He is gone!” “Who is gone?” asked Joyce, springing up as if in amazement. Miss Goodsen, in her excitement did not notice that Joyce was fully dressed. “The wounded Rebel, Lieutenant Pennington,” she fairly shrieked. “Oh! what shall I do? What shall I do?” and she wrung her hands in her distress. Joyce ran to Calhoun’s room; sure enough it was empty. “Stop your noise,” she said, sharply, to Miss Goodsen. “If any one is to blame, I am. They will do nothing with you. It may be he became delirious during the night and has wandered off. We must have the house and premises searched.”