He paused, looking down at her quiet face in some perplexity and doubt. "That he--what?" she asked, looking up at him, and growing slightly pale. "I do not know how to tell you, if you do not know," his eyes, full of grave compassion, fixed on hers. One of her small hands groped blindly out, and clung firmly to his arm. "Captain Clendenon, I know that the Franco-Prussian war is ended. Is that what you mean? Is he--my husband--is he coming home--to America?" She read in his eyes the negative she felt she could not speak. "Tell me," she said, desperately, "if he is not coming home, what is it? I am braver than you think. I can bear a great deal. Is he--is he--_dead_?" "May God have mercy on your poor, tired little soul," he answered, solemnly. "It is more than we know. In the last great battle, General Winans was wounded near unto death, and left on the field. When search was made for him he was not found. Whatever his fate was--whether he was buried, unshrouded and uncoffined, like many of those poor fellows, in an unknown grave, or whether an unknown fate met him, is as yet uncertain. We hope for the best while we fear the worst." One hand still lay on his coat-sleeve--the other one followed it, clasped itself over it, and she laid her white face down upon them, creeping closer to him as if to shield herself against his strong, true heart from the storms that beat on her frail woman-life. One moment he felt the wild throb of her agonized heart against his own; then all was still. Lifting the lifeless form on his arm, he laid it on a sofa and called to Lulu: "I had to tell her!" he exclaimed. "She did not bear it as well as we hoped. I am afraid I have killed her." Ah! grief seldom kills. If it did, this fair world would not have so many of us striving, busy atoms struggling for its possession. She came back to life again, lying still and white in Lulu's loving arms. Captain Clendenon and his mother went out and left them together. They would not intrude on the sore heart whose wound they could not heal. "After all we can hope still," Lulu said, cheerily. "All is uncertainty and mere conjecture. We can still hope on, until something more definite is known." "Hope," repeated the listener, mournfully. "Hope, yes," was the firm reply. "Hope and pray. One of Brother Willie's favorite maxims is that hope springs eternal in the human breast!" "I can bear it," came softly from the other. "I have borne so much, I can still endure. With God's help I will be patient under all." "Whom He loveth He chasteneth," answered Lulu. * * * * *