There too lay the dead and dying, whom the boastful enemy had forsaken where they fell. One of these who had _not_ run was an officer--handsome and young. He was not yet dead. A strange light was in his eyes as he looked on the forms of the foemen thronging around him, saw the faces of the victors, and heard the cheering. Success and glory were for them--for him defeat and death. "Lift me up," he said, "and let me look at you once." They raised him to a sitting posture, supported partly by a gun-carriage, and partly by the arms of his conquerors. And they pressed around him, their voices hushed, their triumphant brows saddened with respect for the dying. "Though we have been fighting each other," he said, solemnly, "we are still brothers. God forgive me if I have done wrong! I too am a northern man,--I too----" As he spoke, a figure in the uniform of his foes sprang through the crowd to his feet. "O, my brother! O, my brother George!" It was Frank Manly, who knelt, and with passionate grief clasped the hand that had clasped his in fondness and merry sport so often in the happy days of his childhood, when neither ever dreamed of their unnatural separation and this still more unnatural meeting. "Frank! my little brother! so grown! is it you?" said the wounded captive, with dreamy surprise. "O George! how could you?" Frank began, with anguish in his voice. But he checked himself; he would not reproach his dying brother. "My wife, you know!" was all the unhappy young man could murmur. He looked at Frank with a faint and ever fainter smile of love, till his eyes grew dim. "I am going, Frank. It is all wrong--I know now--but it is too late. Tell mother----" His words became inaudible, and he sank, swooning, in Captain Edney's arms. "What, George? what shall I tell mother?" pleaded Frank, in an agony. "And father too," said the dying lips, in a moment of reviving recollection. "And my sisters----" But the message was never uttered. "George! O, George! I am here! Don't you see me?" The dim eyes opened; but they saw not. "Carry me up stairs! Let me die in the old room--our room, Frank." It was evident his mind was wandering; he fancied himself once more at home, and wished to be laid in the little chamber where he used to sleep with Frank, as Frank had slept with Willie in later days. "Kiss me, mother!" The ashen face smiled; then the light faded from it; and the lips, grown cold and numb, murmured softly, "It is growing dark--Good night!" And he slept--the sleep of eternity. When Frank rose up from the corpse he had mastered himself. Then Captain Edney saw, what none had noticed before, that blood was streaming down his arm--the same arm that had been grazed before; this time it had been shot through. "You are wounded!" "Yes--but not much. I must go--let me go and take care of Atwater!" "But you need taking care of yourself!"--for he was deadly pale. "No, sir--I--Abe, there----"