He took the book and very carefully tore out part of the leaf, so that there remained only B. Jones and the part of the fly-leaf above the writing. "Now," said he, "put that in your pocket." "What is all this for, Doctor?" "For a purpose. Keep it in your pocket; it may serve to protect you." "What time is it, Doctor?" "Ten minutes to eleven." "I must go." He said no word; but he put up his hands to my face, and made me bend to him, and kissed me. * * * * * Before midnight one of General Morell's orderlies had passed me through our cavalry pickets beyond Mechanicsville. The Doctor's stimulant, or something else, gave me strength, My mind was clear and my will firm. True, I felt indifferent to life; but the lesson which the Doctor had given me I had clearly understood, and I had voluntarily turned the die for duty after it had been cast for ease. All my hesitation had gone, leaving in its place disgust kept down by effort, but kept down. I wanted nothing in life. Nothing? Yes, nothing; I had desire, but knew it unattainable, and renounced its object. I would not hope for a happiness that might bring ruin on another. To die in the work begun this night seemed to me appropriate; life at the present rate was worse than worthless. Yet I had not yielded to this feeling even; I would be prudent and would accomplish what was hoped for, if my strength should serve. In General Morell's tent I had been offered a lieutenant's commission,--a blank fully signed and ready to fill, but had rejected it, through vanity perhaps--the vanity that told me to first perform a duty for which the honour had been soothingly offered. My plans--I had no plans. I had started. What was the weather when I started that night? I do not know. I was making for the swamp; I would go to the swamp; I would look for an opportunity--that was all. The swamp was soon around me. I filed right. I found mire and bush, and many obstacles. The obstacles stirred my reason. To follow every crook of this winding stream was absurd. I came out of the swamp and began to skirt its edge. I looked toward my right--the northeast; the sky reflected a dim glow from many dying camp-fires. I could see how the low swamp's edge bent in and out, and how I could make a straighter course than the river. In some places a path was found. Our pickets were supposed to be on the edge of the hills behind me. My course was northwestward. I crossed two roads which ran at right angles to my course and probably entered Richmond. On each of them successively I advanced until I could see a bridge, upon which I knew it would not be safe to venture, for it was no doubt held by the Confederates. I continued up the stream, approaching it at times to see if it had narrowed.