“Do you think mother’s got the letter you sent, and knows how sick I am? If so, she’s praying for me now, and maybe her prayers will save. I’m not afraid to die, but if I could go home to Rockland first, it would not seem so bad. Pray, mother, pray—pray, pray hard,” and too much exhausted to talk longer, the half-delirious boy turned upon the pillow furnished by some kind lady, and fell into a heavy sleep, from which the physician said he would never waken. * * * * * Midnight in Richmond, and Tom, counting off the strokes, bent lower to watch for the expected change. There was no color in the parted lips, and about the nose there was a pinched, contracted look, which Tom remembered to have seen in Mary’s face, when by her bedside he had sat, just as he sat by Isaac’s, but where Mary’s hands were cold and dry Isaac’s were moist and warm, while the rapid pulses were not as wiry, and irregular as hers had been. There was hope, and falling on his knees, Tom Carleton asked that the life almost gone out might be restored, and promised that if it were he would not forget this lesson as he had forgotten the one learned by Mary’s death-bed. He would be a better man, he said, and God, as he sometimes does, took him at his word. Gradually the sharp expression passed away, the hair grew damp with a more healthful moisture, the pulses were slower, the breathing more regular, and when at last the heavy slumber was broken, and Isaac looked up again, Tom knew that he would live. There was a murmured prayer of thanksgiving, a renewal of his pledge, and then he bent every energy to sustain the life coming so slowly back. Softly the morning broke over the prison walls, and they who had expected to look on Isaac dead, rejoiced to hear that he was better. “It may be I shall see mother yet,” he whispered, faintly, when Tom told him that the dreaded crisis was past; “and if I do, I’ll tell her of your kindness.” “Would you like very much to go home to your mother?” Tom asked, and with a quivering lip and chin Isaac answered: “Yes, oh, yes, if I only could! I was willing to die, but I guess we all cling to life at the last, don’t you?” Tom did not reply to this, but spoke instead of a rumor that all were soon to be discharged and sent back to Washington. “We’ll go together, then,” he said, “you and I, for I shall visit Rockland first and see my sister Rose.” The prospect of release was meat and drink for Isaac who rallied so fast that when the joyful news of an exchange _did_ come, he was able, with Tom’s help, to walk across the floor of what had been his home so long.