"He must be awakened," said the general. "Of course he cannot, in the event that these fellows want to fight, go on the field; and then his relationship! But to-night! To-night he must be aroused! Let me go with you." Edward started almost in terror. "It might not be well, General--it is not necessary--" "On the contrary, a strange voice may have more effect than yours--no ladies about? Of course not! Lead on, I follow." Greatly confused, Edward led the way. As they reached the wing he exclaimed the fact of the glass-room, the whim, the fancy of an imaginative mind, and then they entered. Gerald was sleeping, as was his habit, with one arm extended, the other under his head; his long hair clustering about his face. The light was burning brightly, and the general approached. Thrilled to the heart, Edward steeled himself for a shock. It was well he did. The general bent forward and laid his hand on the sleeper's shoulder. Then he stepped quickly back, seized Edward with the strength of a giant and stood there trembling, his eyes riveted upon the pale face on the pillow. "Am I dreaming?" he asked, in a changed voice. "Is this--the young man--you spoke of?" "It is Gerald Morgan." "Strange! Strange! That likeness! The likeness of one who will never wake again, my friend, never! Excuse me; I was startled, overwhelmed! I would have sworn I looked upon that face as I did in the olden time, when I used to go and stand in the moonlight and dream above it!" "Ah," said Edward, his heart turning to ice within him, "whose was it?" The answer came in a whisper. "It was my wife's face first, and then it was the face of my daughter!" He drew himself up proudly, and, looking long upon the sleeper, said, gently: "They shall not waken you, poor child. Albert Evan will take your place!" With infinite tenderness he brushed back a lock of hair that fell across the white brow and stood watching him. Edward turned from the scene with a feeling that it was too sacred for intrusion. Over the sleeping form stood the old man. A generation of loneliness, of silence, of dignified, uncomplaining manhood lay between them. What right had he, an alien, to be dumb when a word might bring hope and interest back to that saddened life? Was he less noble than the man himself--than the frail being locked in the deathlike slumber? He glanced once more at Gerald. How he had risen to the issue, and in the face of every instinct of a shrinking nature had done his part until the delicate machinery gave way! Suppose their positions were reversed; that he lay upon the bed, and Gerald stood gazing into the night through the dew-gemmed glass, possessed of such a secret. Would he hesitate? No! The answer formed itself instantly--not unless he had base blood in his veins.