“You do not know that he is killed?” she said in a low, distinct tone that was appalling to the other. “I missed him only a little while ago,” said Colonel Winchester, “and I've been looking for him. But I'm sure he is not dead. He can't be!” “No, he can't be! I can't think it!” she said, and she looked at the colonel appealingly. “If you please, sir,” said Pennington, “Lieutenant Warner is missing also. I think we'll find them together. You remember what happened at the Second Manassas.” “Yes, Frank, I do remember it, and your supposition may be right.” He asked a lantern from one of the men, and whispered to Pennington to come. But Mrs. Mason and Juliana had been standing at strained attention, and Mrs. Mason inferred at once what was about to be done. “You mean to look for him on the field,” she said. “We will go with you.” Colonel Winchester opened his lips to protest, but shut them again in silence. “It is right that you should come,” he said a moment later, “but you will see terrible things.” “I am ready.” She seemed all the more admirable and wonderful to Colonel Winchester, because she did not weep or faint. The deathly pallor on her face remained, but she held herself firmly erect beside the gigantic colored woman. “Come with me, Pennington,” said Colonel Winchester, “and you, too, Sergeant Whitley.” The two men and the boy led the way upon the field, and the two women came close behind. They soon entered upon the area of conflict. The colonel had said that it would be terrible, but Mrs. Mason scarcely dreamed of the reality. It was one vast scene of frightful destruction, of torn and trampled earth and of dead men lying in all directions. The black of her faithful servant's face turned to an ashen gray, and she trembled more than her mistress. Colonel Winchester had a very clear idea of the line along which his regiment had advanced and retreated, and he followed it. But the lantern did not enable them to see far. As happened so often after the great battles of the Civil War, the signs began to portend rain. The long drouth would be broken, but whether by natural change or so much firing Colonel Winchester did not know. Despite the lateness of the season dim lightning was seen on the horizon. The great heat was broken by a cool wind that began to blow from the northwest. The five advanced in silence, the two men and the boy still leading and the two women following close behind. Colonel Winchester's heart began to sink yet farther. He had not felt much hope at first, and now he felt scarcely any at all. A few moments later, however, the sergeant suddenly held up his hand. “What is it?” asked the colonel. “I think I hear somebody calling.” “Like as not. Plenty of wounded men may be calling in delirium.” “But, colonel, I've been on battlefields before, and this sounds like the voice of some one calling for help.” “Which way do you think it is?” “To the left and not far off. It's a weak voice.”