A silver tobacco-box and handsome cigar-case followed next, the stranger groaning mentally, as a faint suspicion of Bill’s real intentions crossed his mind. There remained now but one more article, the dearest of all the young Rebel possessed, and the perspiration started from every pore as he felt the rough hand again within his pockets, and knew he could not prevent it. “Oh, no, no, no, not that! Spare me that. Do not open it, please!” and the haughty tone was changed to one of earnest supplication, as Bill drew forth a small daguerrean case, and placed his dirty thumb upon the spring. Something in the stranger’s voice made him pause a moment, but anything like delicacy of feeling was unknown to the rough Bill, and the next instant he was feasting his rude gaze upon the features which the Rebel youth had guarded almost religiously, even from his equals in camp. How beautiful that girlish face was, with its bright laughing eyes, and soft chestnut curls falling in such profusion around the childish brow, and upon the smooth, white neck. Even Bill was awed into silence, while a feeling of bewilderment crept over him as if he had seen that face before, and mingled with this feeling came remembrances of that last day at home, when fair hands, which, ere he was a soldier, would have scorned to touch such as he, had waved him an adieu. “Whew-ew!” he whistled, at last. “Ain’t she pretty, though? Your sweetheart, I guess,” and he leered at the stranger, who made him no reply; only the lips quivered, and in the dark eyes there was a gathering moisture; but when Bill asked, “May I have this, too, if I’ll let you go?” the stranger answered, promptly: “Never! I’ll die a thousand deaths before I’ll part with that! Liberty is not worth that price. Give me back the picture, and I’ll go with you willingly wherever you please. Do give it back,” he added, in an agony of fear, as Bill continued gazing at it, and making his remarks. “Can’t a feller look at a gal on glass if he wants to? I wouldn’t hurt the little critter if I could as well as not. So you won’t give her to me, nor tell me who ’tis, neither?” “Stranger,” said the Rebel, “have you any feelings of refinement?” “Nary feelin’,” and Bill shook his head, but did not withdraw his eyes from the picture. “Well, then, have you a wife?” “Nary wife. Nobody would have Bill Baker.” “Nor sister?” “Nary sister but a dead one that I never seen.” “Nor mother? You surely have a mother,” and the soldier’s voice shook with strong emotion. “You’ve got me there,” and Bill’s eyes turned upon his prisoner. “I have a mother, and you ought to hear the old gal take on when she comes home from washin’ from Miss Martherses or some of the big bugs and finds Hal dead drunk on the trundle-bed, and me not a great sight better. Handsome old gal,—one of the kind that don’t wear hoops, but every time she steps takes her gownd up on her heels, you know.”