“Dey warn’t no doctor about, nor no nuttin’, jes’ cavalry, infantry, an’ artillery a-chargin’, de guns a-boomin’, an’ de soldiers fallin’ over an’ hollerin’ sometimes when de bullets struck ’em an’ de shells cut ’em all to pieces. I tek Marse Richard’s sash from roun’ he waist, an’ wrop it roun’ he chist, so as to soak up de blood. De ho’se stan’ stock-still, an’ I lay Marse Richard ’cross de saddle, an’ tie him on wid de surcingle, an’ lead de ho’se offen de fiel’. I warn’ skeered, dough de bullets was a-flyin’, an’ I warn’ thinkin’ ’bout Marse Richard. I was thinkin’ ’bout ole Marse an’ Missis. I come ’long ’bout four miles to a tavern, an’ dey laid Marse Richard out on a baid upsty’ars, an’ I foun’ a carpenter to mek him a coffin. When de orficers foun’ Marse Richard dat night, I had done wash him an’ dress him an’ put him in de coffin. Didn’ nobody tech him, ’scusin’ ’twas me. I lay he so’de an’ de hat wid de feather in it an’ he epaulets inside de coffin, an’ de cloak over it, an’ den I wrop’ de coffin up in he blanket. I had some gold in a belt roun’ my waist, dat Marse Richard tole me fur to keep, case he was wounded or kilt, fur to bring him back to Harrowby, an’ I hired dis heah ho’se an’ cyart, an’ druv it every step of de way myself. I got ’way from de tavern jes’ as quick as I could, fur I didn’t want nobody fur to be axin’ questions. I knowed what ole Marse an’ ole Missis want me to do, an’ I gwine do it. When people on de main road ax me what I got in de cyart, I tole ’em ’twas my little Marse dat was kilt, an’ I was tekin’ him home to ole Marse an’ ole Missis. Den I whip up de ho’se an’ nobody didn’t try fur to stop me. An’ I done brought him home, Missis, jes’ like you tole me.” Mrs. Tremaine put her small withered hand in Peter’s black palm, and said to him in her own sweet, natural voice: “Thank you, Peter; you have done exactly what your master and I wished you to do.” Then she suddenly burst into a wild storm of hysterical weeping, and Colonel Tremaine, himself shaken with sobs, led her gently into the house. The stricken parents went into the library and shut the door, where they were alone with their grief for an hour. No one went near them, not even Archie, who watched, with awe and grief, the solemn preparations made necessary by his Majesty, Death. Lyddon, always unequal to practical affairs, could do nothing. He was stunned and shaken more than ever in his life before. He went like a man in a dream into Richard’s bedroom and closed and locked the door. Neither Archie nor Angela knew what directions to give, and were too full of grief and horror to understand what should be done. Madame Isabey and Adrienne, when they heard the dreadful news, offered to do all that was possible, but nothing lay in their power.