"Have you never heard the story?" said Donald. "I suppose it might be called a broken heart, although the doctors gave it the more agreeable title of '_heart disease_.' It is very well for the world that doctors do not call things by their right name always. Now, if I should be found dead to-morrow morning in my little room at Dan, the doctors would pronounce me a victim of 'apoplexy,' or 'heart failure.' That would be very generous of the doctors so far as _I_ am concerned. But would it not be more generous to struggling humanity to say the truth: 'This man died of _delirium tremens_,--killed himself with whiskey. Now you other sots take warning.'" "Donald Rives!" the sad eyes, full of unspoken pity, not unmixed with regret, sought his. "Truth," said Donald. "And truth, Alice, is always best. The world, the sick moral world, cannot be healed with falsehood. But the woman sleeping there--she has a pretty story. Will you wait while I tell it--you are going away to-morrow." She glanced down the road, dim with the twilight. "The others are gone on to Dan, to see the moon rise," she said hesitatingly. "We will follow them there in a moment," said Donald. "I have a fancy for telling you that story." He laughed, a nervous, mirthless kind of laugh, and slipped his rifle to his other hand. "She had a lover in the army, you understand. She was waiting here with hundreds of others until 'the cruel war should cease.' One day when there had been a great battle, a messenger came to Beersheba, bringing news for her. He brought a letter, and she came across the little court there at Beersheba, and received it from the messenger's own hand. She tore it open and read the one line written there. Then the white page fluttered to the ground. She placed her hands upon her heart as if the bullet had pierced her. 'Oh, Shiloh! Shiloh!' That was all she said or did. The ball from old Shiloh did its work. The next day they buried her up there under the cedars. The letter had but one line: 'Shot at Shiloh, fatally,' and signed by the captain of the company who had promised to send news of the battle. Just a line; but enough to break a heart. Hearts break easily, sweetheart." She looked at him with her earnest eyes full of tears. "Do you think hers broke?" she asked. "I do not. She merely went to him." "As I should go to you, if you were to die, because I cannot live without you." "Hush! I am nothing to you now. Only a friend who loves you, and would help you if she could, but she is powerless." "O Alice, do not say that. Do not give me over in that hopeless way to ruin. Do not abandon me now."