“But why call his death inglorious? If a man braves death why is any one time or place worse than another?” “Because for a man of his temperament he is dying the cruelest death possible. He had expected, if called upon to yield his life, to purchase with it some great good for his country. But to perish uselessly as he is doing, as if bitten by a snake, is terrible. Here we are. I will tell you before we go in that he has a bullet wound through the body, just grazing an artery and it is only a question of a short time, and the slightest shock, when a fatal hemorrhage will ensue. Be very quiet and careful.” He untied a rope stretched across the entrance to a little wing of the building to keep unnecessary footsteps at a distance. “How is he this morning?” he asked of a gray-haired nurse seated in front of a door curtained with a blanket. “Quiet and cheeful as ever,” answered the nurse, rising and pulling the blanket aside that they might enter. The face upon which Rachel's eyes fell when she entered the room impressed her as an unusual combination of refinement and strength. Beyond this she noted little as to the details of the patient's countenance, except that he had hazel eyes, and a clear complexion asserting itself under the deep sun-burning. When they entered he was languidly fanning himself with a fan which had been ingeniously constructed for him by some inmate, out of a twig of willow bent into a hoop, and covered by pasting paper over it. He gave a faint smile of welcome to the Doctor, but his face lighted up with pleasure when he saw Rachel. “Good morning, Sanderson,” said Dr. Denslow, in a repressed voice. “How do you feel?” “As usual,” whispered Sanderson. “This is Miss Rachel Bond, who is assigned to our hospital as nurse.” A slight movement of Sanderson's head acknowledged Rachel's bow. “I am so glad to see you,” he whispered, taking hold of her hand. “Sit down there, please.” Rachel took the indicated seat at the head of the cot. “Doctor,” inquired Sanderson, “is it true that McClellan has had to fall back from before Richmond?” “I have tried hard to keep the news from you,” answered Dr. Denslow, reluctantly. “I feat it is too true. Let us hope it is only a temporary reverse, and that it will soon be more than overcome.” “Not in time for me,” said Sanderson, in deep dejection. “I have lived several days merely because I wanted to see Richmond taken before I died. I can wait no longer.” The Doctor essayed some confused words of encouragement, but stopped abruptly, and feigning important business in another part of the hospital, hurried out, bidding Rachel await his return. When he was gone Sanderson lifted Rachel's hand to his lips, and said with deep feeling: “I am so glad you have come. You remind me of her.” The ebbing life welled up for the last time into such ardent virility that Rachel's first maidenly instinct was to withdraw her hand from his earnest pressure and kiss.