"Poor Colonel Stanton was not so fortunate," went on the young surgeon. "He was shot through the breast, and now lies between life and death." "Jack saw him shot, from a distance," said Mrs. Ruthven. "Did he? And where is Jack now?" "He has disappeared," and the lady of the plantation gave her nephew some of the particulars. Harry was invited into the house, and he remained to lunch, in the meantime telling of the general progress of the war. "Frankly, I wish it was at an end," he said. "I hate to see one section of our glorious country fighting the other. It is not right." During the talk it developed that Colonel Stanton was lying at a house about half a mile distant, up the bay road. "He acts very queerly," said Harry Powell, "just as if his wound had affected his mind." "Can we do anything for him?" asked Mrs. Ruthven. "I do not know of anything now. But perhaps I'll think of something later, aunt. I do not wish the colonel to suffer any more than is necessary. He is a thorough gentleman." "I feel you are right, Harry. He has given me an entirely different idea of Yankees from what I had before," returned Mrs. Ruthven warmly. The lady of the plantation became deeply interested in the wounded colonel's case, and when the young surgeon went away she had one of the negroes of the place hitch up a horse to the carriage and drive her over to where the wounded officer lay. The colonel was in something of a fever, and hardly recognized her. For a long time he kept muttering to himself, but she could not catch his words. "The ship is doomed!" he cried suddenly. "We are going to pieces on the rocks!" And then he began to speak of the army and of the terrible battle through which he had gone. "What can he mean by saying the ship is doomed?" was the question which Mrs. Ruthven asked herself. "Can it be that he was once in a shipwreck?" For a long while after this the colonel lay silent. Then he opened his eyes and stared around wildly. "All drowned, you say?" he exclaimed. "No! no! Laura must be saved! Save my wife--never mind me! How high the waves are running! Where is the child? Captain, why don't you put out to sea? Don't you see the rebels? They are luring us to the coast! See, that rebel is stealing my child, my darling Jack! Ha! we have struck, and I am drifting. Laura, where are you? Save Jack! Look, look, they are retreating! The battle is won! Oh, what a storm--can nothing be saved?" And then the poor man sank back, completely exhausted. Mrs. Ruthven drank in the spoken words like one in a dream. What was this the wounded officer was saying? Something about a storm, about a wife Laura, and a child named Jack! "Can it be possible that he is speaking of our boy Jack?" she asked herself, and then looked at the colonel's face more closely than ever. The resemblance was more than striking, it was perfect. Give Jack that heavy mustache and those wrinkles, and the faces would be exactly alike.