They did not know of his struggle with Death, nor had they seen the marks upon the soldier's throat. But the physicians who came to him, and saw the marks of Death's cruel fingers, shook their heads and said the soldier could not live to complete the work upon which his whole heart was set. And the soldier knew it, too, and many a time he paused in his writing and laid his pen aside and bowed his head upon his hands and strove for consolation in the thought of the great fame he had already won. But there was no consolation in all this. So when Death came a second time he found the soldier weak and trembling and emaciated. "It would be vain of you to struggle with me now," said Death. "My poison is in your veins, and, see, my dew is on your brow. But you are a brave man, and I will not bear you with me till you have asked one favor, which I will grant." "Give me an hour to ask the favor," said the soldier. "There are so many things--my histories and all--give me an hour that I may decide what I shall ask." And as Death tarried, the soldier communed with himself. Before he closed his eyes forever, what boon should he ask of Death? And the soldier's thoughts sped back over the years, and his whole life came to him like a lightning flash--the companionship and smiles of kings, the glories of government and political power, the honors of peace, the joys of conquest, the din of battle, the sweets of a quiet home life upon a western prairie, the gentle devotion of a wife, the clamor of noisy boys, and the face of a little girl--ah, there his thoughts lingered and clung. "Time to complete our work--our books--our histories," counselled Ambition. "Ask Death for time to do this last and crowning act of our great life." But the soldier's ears were deaf to the cries of Ambition; they heard another voice--the voice of the soldier's heart--and the voice whispered: "Nellie--Nellie--Nellie." That was all--no other words but those, and the soldier struggled to his feet and stretched forth his hands and called to Death; and, hearing him calling, Death came and stood before him. "I have made my choice," said the soldier. "The books?" asked Death, with a scornful smile. "No, not them," said the soldier, "but my little girl--my Nellie! Give me a lease of life till I have held her in these arms, and then come for me and I will go!" Then Death's hideous aspect was changed; his stern features relaxed and a look of pity came upon them. And Death said, "It shall be so," and saying this he went his way.