Soft o'er the fountain, lingering falls the Southern moon, Far o'er the mountain breaks the day too soon, In thy dark eyes' splendor, where the warm light loves to dwell, Weary looks yet tender speak their fond farewell, Nita! Juanita! Ask thy soul if we should part, Nita! Juanita! Lean thou on my heart! It was an old song of pathos and longing, but Harry remembered well that mellow, golden voice. If he could reach Sam Jarvis he would secure help, and there was the happy valley in which he lived. As he steadied himself anew fresh strength and courage poured into his veins, and leaving the fringe of forest he entered a field, at the far end of which Jarvis was ploughing. The singer was happy. He drove a stout bay horse, and as he walked along in the furrow he watched the rich black earth turn up before the ploughshare. He hated no man, and no man hated him. The war had never invaded his valley, and he sang from the sheer pleasure of living. The world about him was green and growing, and the season was good. His nephew, Ike Simmons, was ploughing in another field, and whenever he chose he could see the smoke rising from the chimney of the strong log house in which he lived. Harry thought at first that he would go down the end of the long field to Jarvis, but the ploughed land pulled at his feet, and made him very weak again. So he walked straight across it, though he staggered, and approached the house, the doors of which stood wide open. He was not thinking very clearly now, but he knew that rest and help were at hand. He opened the gate that led to the little lawn, went up the walk and, scarcely conscious of what he was doing, stood in the doorway, and stared into the dim interior. As his eyes grew used to the dusk the figure of an old, old woman, lean and wrinkled, past a hundred, suddenly rose from a chair, stood erect, and regarded him with startled, burning eyes. "Ah, it's the governor, the great governor, Henry Ware!" she exclaimed. "Didn't I say to you long ago: 'You will come again, and you will be thin and pale and in rags, and you will fall at the door.' I see you coming with these two eyes of mine!" As she spoke, the young man in the tattered Southern uniform, stained with the blood of two wounds, reeled and fell unconscious in the doorway. When Harry came back to the world he was lying in a very comfortable bed, and all the pain had gone from his head. A comfortable, motherly woman, whom he recognized as Mrs. Simmons, was sitting beside him, and Colonel Leonidas Talbot, looking very tall, very spare and very precise, was standing at a window. "Good morning, Mrs. Simmons," said Harry in a clear, full voice. She uttered an exclamation of joy, and Colonel Talbot turned from the window. "So you've come back to us, Harry," he said. "We knew that it was only a matter of time, although you did lose a lot of blood from that wound in the shoulder." "I never intended to stay away, sir."