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when, just as our last note died among the trees one of us cried, "Listen!" and through the stillness there came from far away on our right the last three measures of a bugle sounding The March.

I mumbled something about never wishing to tempt any one.

Her face spoke passionate thanks. "That's all I can ask!" she said, whispered "When you go--keep the plain road,"--and vanished.

"I saw them, Lieutenant, looking in at the door to see the despatch put back under my pillow. Yes, sir, by the same hand that had shown it to them."

"Whose hand was it; that fellow's, yonder?" Oliver was several paces away.

I could not speak, I shook my head, and for evidence in rebuttal I showed in my eyes two fountains of standing tears.

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