The old man lay still on his pillow, a strange and awful shadow stealing over his face. His granddaughter had raised her head, and she saw it, though the torch had burned low and there was little but the red light of the fire glimmering into the building. She buried her face once more in the pallet, threw her arms around the old man's form, and sobbed, "Grandfather! oh, grandfather!" "Hark! did I not hear cannon again? Are you _sure_ the Union troops have won the victory?" came from the closing lips. "You are a soldier and a gentleman. You said your name was Craw--Crawford. A good old name. Never mind me--take care of Marion. Marion--Ma--." He was silent, and silent forever, except as the dumb lips may be hereafter opened! Marion Hobart saw the lower jaw fall and the open eyes put on that ghastly appearance which is the seal of the triumph of death: and she knew, without a word from either of her companions, that he was dead. The soldiers saw that she comprehended all that had occurred, and expected that she would shriek again and throw herself wildly on the body. She did not--she merely clasped her hands and looked on the body with such a pitiful gaze of fixed sorrow that Crawford could not bear it and turned away his eyes, while Webster found sudden and unexplained necessity for blowing his long nose. Suddenly, and before a word had been spoken by either of the soldiers, a new thought came to the young girl and a terrible look of fear and sorrow swept over her face. "It is night and we cannot bury him!" she said, her voice broken and agonized. "How can I leave him unburied? Gentlemen--gentlemen--how can I leave my poor grandfather unburied?" "He shall not remain unburied!" said Crawford, instantly and earnestly. "He should not, Miss, if I had to make a ground-hog of myself and dig his grave with my own hands!" put in Webster, who had scarcely spoken before during all the sad scene. "Oh thank you!--thank you both!" she began--then suddenly pausing, she said: "But how--I do not understand--it is night, and we have nothing--" "In half an hour we will be at camp, God willing," answered Crawford, "and Colonel Warren will send a guard of soldiers to watch the body until morning and then to bury it with all honor. Do you understand, Miss Hobart?" "I do," answered the young girl, her sad calmness returning at once. "You are both very good and kind, and may God bless you. You want to go? We must go, I suppose; and we can do poor grandfather no good now by staying. Good-bye, grandfather--poor grandfather! I shall never see you again, and you do not see _me_, even now! Good-bye! oh, grandfather, grandfather! I am so lonesome I so lonesome!"