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When I reached the army, Johnston had, at Beauregard’s request, been placed in command, and, with his splendid skill, was fighting Sherman at every step, yet drawing his small force farther and farther back without demoralization, and without a wagon’s loss.

CHAPTER XL.

Eighteen hundred and sixty-five! Annus iræ! Year of blood and tears, famine and oppression! God send that Time’s womb may be barren ere such another offspring shall curse our land!

Could one behold, as in a panorama, the South of ‘60 and the South of ‘65, even a devil would weep over the ruin wrought in five years.

In the one picture he would see wide-spreading fields, with waving, luxuriant crops, worked by throngs of joyous light-hearted negroes, who sing, in a resounding chorus, as they guide their sleek teams up and down the fertile furrows; he would see long villages of negro quarters, each house with its garden and patch, its pig and chickens, and its happy children playing at the door, while within some old camp-meeting hymn is mingling with the drone of the wheel and the clack of the loom; he would see premises adorned with all the appliances of wealth, stables filled with blooded stock, pastures grazed by herds of purest breed, kennels filled with well trained dogs, gardens of roses, orchards of fruit, and groves of magnificent oaks, amid which towers the stately mansion, its windows aglow with hospitality, and its porches thronged with fair faces and noble forms.

In the other he would see the broad fields lying idle and waste, the ditches overflowed, the fences broken down; no chorus sounds, no life is seen save in a distant corner of the field, where a “fourth part tenant” plows a little steer around an arid patch of corn. He would see the quarters all deserted, the children gone, the wheel still, and the loom silent, the very doors holding their wooden lips ajar to speak “desolation!” He would see dotted over the country the squalid huts of the freedmen, their children sick, and no one to secure the doctor’s pay, that he may attend; their mortgage on the crop, made to the nearest merchant, for their year’s support, consumed in midsummer by their own extravagance, and the invariable bull, scarce able to plow an hour in the day for want of food. Oh, Boston! “Hub of the Universe!” “Cradle of Freedom!” You drove a sharp trade indeed with Africa’s children when you gave them the ballot in exchange for life, and comfort, and home! He would see the mansion amid the oaks, if standing at all, standing silent and drear, the smoke only rising from one chimney, the shutters all closed, and a woman in black walking wearily up and down the gloomy hall, while down in the garden, under the willow, rests a marble slab, with the inscription: “Killed at the battle of Somewhere.”

But, as I was saying, it was the spring of ‘65.

The great army of Sherman had wound its blasting way from Atlanta to the sea. In its trail lay ashes and ruin; lone, blackened chimneys, plundered cities, and weeping women. The ever ascending smoke told its course; not the white smoke of honorable battle, but thick black volumes from burning homes, that, like the ink of a recording angel, wrote their hellish deeds upon the scroll of the sky.

Day after day our wary General fell slowly back before thrice his numbers, checking them, wherever he could, with a fight, and retreating after the fight, ere they could crush him by heavier forces. Back, still back, retreating with undaunted hearts, but alas! too few; skirmishing at Fayetteville, battling at Averasboro’, the 17th March found us not far from Goldsboro’ and near my home; but between us and that dear spot was part of Sherman’s army and the commands of Schofield and Terry, who had met, one from Newbern, the other from Wilmington, in Goldsboro’. I had not heard from Carlotta since leaving General Lee’s army, and for her and mother’s safety I dared not hope. Mr. Bemby was their only protection, and with the Yankee army in Goldsboro’, I knew that one hour would suffice for the house to be rifled and themselves insulted. The agony of my suspense was terrible; to be so near home and yet not be able to see my wife and child. My fears and anxiety almost maddened me, and I seemed to hear continually their cries for help and protection.

Ben and I had been sitting in our tent, as the day drew to a close, talking of our loved ones and thinking of some plan by which we could get to them, when he rose and said:

“It’s no use a talkin’ ‘bout it, John, I’m goin’ through the lines; I’ll be darned if I musn’t see Viny and the young ones.”

“I’ll go with you, Ben,” I said; “shall we start tonight?”

“No, siree! not ef you think much of yer head; a Yankee would kill a angel ef he caught him flying in the night.”

“It will be impossible to pass them in the day,” I said, impatient of delay.

“Lem’me take keer of that,” he said, rising; “I’m goin’ to see Gen. Johnston now and get two days’ leave of absence, and we’ll git to the old man’s to-morrow night, or the devil may take my nose to plow ashes.”

He passed out under the flap of the tent, but in a second rushed back, dragging in an old negro man.

“Look here, John,” he exclaimed, “here’s Horace, he can tell us somethin’ ‘bout our folks.”

I sprang forward to the old man, who stood grinning in the door, and grasped his arm.

“Horace, for God’s sake, tell me about Carlotta and mother! are they safe?”

“Well, Marse John,” said Horace, with great deliberation, looking at me with love and pride, “Sho nough, dis is you, but you is changed a sight sence I seen you; you’s puttier’n ever.”

But I was in no mood for empty compliments, and led him in the tent almost rudely, as I pointed to a stool, and said:

“Sit down, Horace, and don’t speak another word about any subject till you have told me something of home.”

He shook his head slowly two or three times as he replied:

“U’m – m! dere’s news enough, Marse John, and bad at that.”

“Have the Yankees been at our house yet?” I asked.

“Yes, sir, I should say they has, but they won’t come again – not to the house.”

“Why?” I asked, leaning forward eagerly, “What will prevent them?”

“Dere ‘aint no house for ’em to come to, it’s done burnt clean to de groun’.”

“Burnt down!” exclaimed Ben and I, in one breath.

“That it is; but I’m mighty forgetful, here’s a letter from Miss C’lotta.”

He took off his old torn hat, and lifting up the lining, took out the back of an envelope, soiled and crumpled, and handed it to me. I snatched it eagerly and read —

“Dear John:

I write on this little scrap hastily, to let you hear something from us. Uncle Horace, who has alone been faithful, promises to get it to you, if he can. The Yankees have taken every thing from us, and burned the house. Darling mother, in escaping, was struck on the head by a piece of falling timber, and is in a most critical condition. My precious boy and myself are safe. We are now at Mr. Bemby’s, whose house escaped, though his supplies did not, and we have to depend on his and Uncle Horace’s ingenuity for our daily support. I feel I shall almost go mad with our trouble. God help me to bear it, and forgive my wild wicked thoughts! I fear you will be insane with fury when I tell you that Frank Paning was with the soldiers, piloting them around, and was very insulting to me. I cannot write more.

Carlotta.”

“May God help me to be revenged!” I shouted, crushing the letter in my hand, as I sprang to my feet.

Ben rushed to my side, and, clasping our hands, we held our revolvers above our heads, and registered a fearful oath of vengeance or death. Then my feelings quieted down enough for me to turn to Horace, who was looking at us with a frightened gaze.

“Horace, may Heaven bless you as you deserve. Here is the only reward I can make you now; take it all,” I said, drawing a large roll of Confederate money from my belt.

“No, sir!” said the old man, proudly, “I don’t want nothin’ for taking keer of Mistis and Miss C’lotta; ‘sides, that ain’t no ‘count ‘mongst dem blue coat debbels in Goldsboro’.”

“When did you leave home?” asked Ben, as I put back my currency, rather crestfallen at Horace’s very sensible reason for refusing it.

“Yistiddy mornin’. I been in camp all to-day trying to find you and Marse John, but dere’s so many solgers comin’ and gwine I was in a pyo maze like.”

“Horace, tell me all those scoundrels did,” I said, reading over the letter again. “Don’t leave out anything.”

“Well, you see, Marse John,” he said, taking off his hat and laying it on the ground, while he wiped his forehead with a very dingy red handkerchief, “we hears de Yankees is comin’ up from Newb’n, and Mistis axes me to hide de silver things, an’ I like a fool gets Reuben to help me, ‘cause Reuben swears he love Mistis better’n all de Yankees in de world. That’s how come de silver gone, in the fust place. Den we hears they is in Goldsboro’, and next morning, by sun up, a whole squad comes gallopin’ up to the house, and bust de crib door open, and gets out de corn. I was standin’ by, and says: ‘Dere ain’t much corn dere, ‘cause Wheeler’s folks got some yistiddy;’ and they say, ‘What Wheeler’s folks?’ skeered like. I say: ‘Some folks on horses that come from todes Fa’teville, and stopped all night down in dem woods yonder.’ Den dey jumped on dere horses ‘thout puttin’ ary foot in de stirrup, an’ lumbers down de road ‘thout techin de corn.”

“But tell me about the house, Horace,” I exclaimed impatiently. “I don’t care about the crib and Wheeler’s men.”

“I’m a gittin to it, Marse John. You see mistis was poorly, and was stayin’ in bed, and every one de niggers lef’, an’ I had to cook, and tote water, an’ do every thing ‘bout de house; an’ that day, ‘bout dinner time, I see a dozen blue coats come dustin’ down de road. An’ ‘fore I c’d git to de house dey done kicked de door open, and was all over de rooms; and de first man I see was Frank Paning, and he had on a blue newniform, too. He knowed me, and looked sorter mean, but put on like he never been dere b’fore. They was all rippin’ and cussin’ all over de house, and Miss C’lotta she come and stood in mistis’ room door, and her eyes was like coals er fire; but they never noticed her, only Paning say ‘gim me de keys, my beauty!’”

“The villain!” I muttered, grinding my nails into my flesh.

“At last one on ’em foun’ de key basket, and den dey begun in earness. They took out all dere was to eat in de pantry, and drunk up and spilt all de wine; they eat some of the preserves, and bust the glass jars on de floor; they kicked open de ole clock, and split the pianner led wid one er de weights. Then dey swore they was gwine to have some silver an’ gold, or burn up de house; and they went into mistis’ room, where she was sick in de bed, and cussed her, and asked her where de silver was. Mistis, nor Miss C’lotta neither, never said a word, an’ one great big fellow, with cross eyes, come up to de bed and say: ‘Look here, ole gal! that won’t do; you got to hustle out er them bed close; you’s silver sick, I reckon.’ And mistis sees Frank Paning then, and says: ‘Mr. Paning, for de sake of de pass pertect me!’ an’ Paning says, ‘I don’t know you; git up!’ and two on ’em ketches mistis by de arm and jerks her outen de bed on de floor, and mistis faints like, while Miss C’lotta holds her head in her arms and cries. De Yankees rips up de bed and scatters de feathers all over de room, and when they find nothin’, one on ’em say, ‘Less leave; and Paning steps up to Miss C’lotta and says: ‘Ef I can’t git silver I’ll take a kiss,’ and smacks her right on de cheek; and then Miss C’lotta was mad for true. She jumped up quicker’n lightning and jerks a little bit er blue pistol outen her pocket, an’ ‘fore Paning could git away bang! went de little pistol, and Paning clap’d his hand to his shoulder and says, ‘Damnation! the fool has shot me,’ an’ he pulls out his sode and starts todes her, and Miss C’lotta was a standin’ lookin’ straight at him with de little pistol levelled; and a tall man, that hadn’t said much, kotch Paning by de arm, and say, ‘That’s a woman; let her ‘lone,’ and den dey all leaves. Then Miss C’lotta told me to run and fetch some water, and when I fotch the piggin I seed that de house was on fire, and de room was a fillin’ with smoke. Miss C’lotta tuk some shawls and ropped mistis up, and tole me to help tote her out, for de fire was all over de house. And then we starts out, mistis tryin’ to walk, an’ little Johnny a holden on to Miss C’lotta and cryin’, and jus’ as we gits to de front door a piece of scantlin’ fell outen de top of de porch and hits mistis plump on de head, and she fell – .”

“Hush, Horace, for the love of God, hush!” I groaned, as I staggered to my cot in the corner. “Do not tell me any more. Try to make your way back to Mr. Bemby’s, and tell Carlotta we are going to make the attempt to get to her. Ben, give him something to eat, please, and make your arrangements for our trip.”

I turned over on my face, and lay in a kind of stupor. The horrors of Horace’s narration seemed to paralyze all faculties of mind and body, and while Ben was off perfecting his arrangements, I lay through most of the night without moving, my ears ringing with Carlotta’s cries of anguish, and my eyes scorching with the light of my burning home.

About daybreak I awoke from a fitful slumber, full of horrid dreams, to find Ben standing near me with a large bundle on his arm, and a covered basket in his hand. “Great Heavens!” I exclaimed, springing to my feet, “this tame inaction will kill me. I must start now; if you will not go with me, Ben, I must go alone.”

Ben put his bundles down with great deliberation, as he replied:

“John, you know I’d go to Satan’s summer house with you if you wan’t goin’ to live there, but there is such a thing as bein’ in too much hurry. Less get somethin’ to eat first, for we ain’t goin’ to start till after sun up, and we can’t stop to cook dinners. What we’ve got to do ain’t like goin’ to preachin’ with your sweetheart, no how.”

I saw that he knew best, and let him have his own way.

“I have been to Gen. Johnston,” he said, drawing some papers from his pocket, “and got two days leave of absence; here’s his pass through our pickets. Now get your writing tricks and fill up this one as I say.”

He drew from among his papers a regular Federal pass, already printed, with only the date and name to fill up, and gave it to me, telling me to write it for Mrs. Sarah Jenkins and her son. It seemed to me a foolish waste of time, but I did as directed, and signed it as all adjutants do, with such a flourish and complicated A. A. G. that Champollion would have been puzzled to decipher it.

“And now,” said Ben, taking the two passes, “string up your nerves while I get breakfast, and then we’ll dress for the frolic.”

I ate some of the hard tack and drank the cup of coffee which he kindly brought me, and told him I was ready.

“Hold on yit,” he said, as he finished his cup, “the sun’s jes’ gittin’ up. We must change our clothes – here, you put on these, as you ain’t as tall as I am,” and he untied his bundle, and took out an old faded calico dress, a white cap and a large fly bonnet.

“You see,” he said, as he spread out the articles, “we are bound to rig up outlandish, for we can’t help seeing some of the Yanks. Here’s mine,” and he produced an old home-spun suit and a wide-brim wool hat. I now saw the design of his disguises, and giving his hand a warm grasp for his sympathy and assistance, entered into his scheme and began to make ready.

“I can tell you,” said Ben, talking while I was shaving off my beard, “I had a hard time gittin’ these traps. I rode about ten mile last night, and had to steal the bonnet at that, though I stuck a five dollar Confed. on the fence where I grabbed it.”

After half an hour’s preparation I stood as complete an old woman, with specs and muffled chin, as ever sold eggs or peddled cakes. Ben was his old self again, and looked as essentially rustic as when he carried us fishing when we were boys.

“Now we are ready,” said Ben, when we were fully disguised. “Less go; don’t mind what our boys holler at you, it’ll help fool the Yankees better.”

Just outside the tent door were two sorry looking horses, with rope bridles, and a side saddle on one of them; beside them on the ground was a hamper basket, with a cloth tied over it, and another smaller basket full of eggs.

In reply to my regret that our horses looked so poor, Ben said that our own were too good, that the Yankees would dismount us, and that these would be no temptation.

I got up to my seat, and after some instructions from Ben as to how I must hold my basket and how to hide my feet, we started off.

We took a circuitous route around Goldsboro’, and striking the Neuse, kept down the bank of the river ‘till we were near our homes. So well was Ben acquainted with every path through the woods that we did not come in sight of a Yankee during the day, ‘till, just before sunset, we came into the road leading to our house, at its junction with the County road; and here we found three or four soldiers apparently on picket duty. We rode carelessly up and, on being halted, presented our passes, which were examined by one of the men, with the bars of a corporal on his arm.

“All right, you can pass,” he said, returning the papers to Ben, while I sat with my face averted and my shoulders bent as if I was very decrepit. We had hardly started from the group when one of them called out —

“Stop, old lady, let us see what you have in your basket.” Knowing that the closeness of interview required by bargaining for eggs would lead to our detection, I could not repress a tremor of apprehension; but Ben instantly relieved my embarrassment by kicking my horse into a trot, and saying in a loud tone:

“Go ‘long, mammy; don’t you know the man with stars on shoulder, what give us the pass, tole us not to talk to folks that was standin’ guard?”

None of the soldiers said anything more to us and we rode on without molestation. We had scarcely gone a mile when we came to the large gate of our grove. It was standing open and strange cattle were browsing under the oaks. We looked down the long avenue, and instead of the tall white house, with its broad porch and door, distant woods, and the red evening sky beyond, were all that caught the eye. We galloped hurriedly down the avenue, and dismounted at the yard palings, a few steps in front of the ruins. Where the house had been was now a heap of ashes, that rose in little clouds as the March winds blew over them. The tall, silent chimneys stood with their mouth-like fireplaces whispering to each other of ruin and desolation, across the smouldering pile. The old cedar near the house, under whose branches I had wept, as a boy, over Lulie’s cruelty, was withered and blackened, and even the palings on which we leaned were charred to coal. A broad rock chimney showed where the kitchen had been; and the well house and dairy, which were still standing, were scorched and blackened with the heat. There was no sign of life on the premises; all was silent and still, the stables were open and the horses gone, the negro houses all deserted, and not even a dog lurked around the lot.

The very evening was full of dreariness! The sun had gone out behind a hard, red sky, against which the wind blew in fitful gusts; now with abortive blast, as if to rekindle the flame of day; now with a frightened moan, as if afraid of the approach of night. The tall trees along the river tossed and beat their long bare arms, as if they longed to break their chains of root and flee from these scenes of waste and woe. From the swaying top of one of them a solitary crow flew, with black flapping wings, cawing as he came, and perched upon the topmost bough of the old cedar, like a spirit of evil, his black feathers blown into a ruff around his neck, and his head bobbing with every note, in mockery of the desolation.

His voice broke the spell of our silence, and I turned to Ben. He was standing with one hand on the gate post, the nails whitened by pressure against the wood, and his grey eyes glowing as if there were lamps behind them.

“Gracious God! what a sight!” I said, as I leaned against the paling for support.

“Ah – h – h,” said Ben, the breath hissing through his clenched teeth, “and it’s lit up a devil’s bonfire in here it’ll take blood to put out,” and he tapped his breast, where the protrusion of a revolver could be faintly seen.

“But think, Ben, of Paning’s doing all this. A double-dyed villain! to burn the very house that has sheltered him, and insult a woman whose hospitality he has received! He here at my home, directing a too willing enemy where to pillage; his foul lips forcing their polluted touch on Carlotta’s cheek! Great Heaven! the thought drives me mad; may Infinite Justice help me to meet him once more!”

As I ceased speaking a strange unearthly wail arose on the air, and a poor wounded cat, roused by our voices, sprang, or rather fell from a box in the dairy window to the ground, and strove to make its way to us with piteous mewing. It was perfectly blind, as we could tell from its actions, and its fur and flesh on one side were singed and burnt by the fire. It was gaunt from starvation, and cried aloud with a hollow voice in its vain efforts to find us. I went forward and took it up in my arms, and saw then that it was a pet of mother’s, that had been perhaps forgotten in the haste of leaving, and with fond local affection, was starving rather than quit the place. As I gazed upon the poor famished creature, with its white sightless eyes and emaciated frame, and thought of mother’s fondness and care for it, for the first time losing control of myself, I burst into tears.

Ben touched my shoulder and said:

“Less go, John; we can’t do no good staying here, and are wasting a heap of precious time.”

Knowing that Mr. Bemby’s larder now had no room for cats, I made the poor creature a bed in the dairy, and placing something to eat and some water by it, we left it. Throwing our bridles over our arms we walked on to Mr. Bemby’s, which was but a short distance through the trees. As we approached the house I saw my beautiful boy playing near the steps. He looked up in perfect amazement as I ran to him, and his lips quivered with frightened surprise as a seeming old woman caught him up and strained him to her heart. Bearing him in my arms I entered the house, and at the sound of my footsteps Carlotta came to the door, her beautiful face pale with anxiety and alarm; for every footfall on the doorway now meant robbery or insult. She started back in affright at my wild appearance and grotesque disguise, but the next instant, as I murmured “Carlotta!” her arms were around me and she was sobbing on my shoulder.

“Oh, thank God! we have met again. Oh, John, my husband, what we have suffered since I saw you last!” she exclaimed, with convulsive weeping.

“I know it all, darling; Horace has told me. But compose yourself, dearest, and let us go to mother, if she be still alive.”

“She is still living, but I fear will not live long. She grows feebler every day. I will go in and prepare her for your coming.”

She left me and went into another room, while I placed my little boy, who had been staring at his mother and myself with a look of amazement, again upon the floor, and tore off my bonnet and dress.

“No matter what happens,” I said, as Ben came in with his wife from the kitchen, where he had gone to look for her, “I won’t wear this ridiculous costume, here at least.”

I had scarcely done greeting Ben’s wife when his mother came in, not so plethoric as when I had last seen her, but with the same good natured face and kind heart.

I could only grasp her honest hands with tears in my eyes, and bless her for her kindness to my dear ones.

“You needn’t go to talk ‘bout kindness,” said Mrs. Bemby, wiping her specs on the corner of her apron. “Your mother’s done a sight more for me’n I ever kin do for her, an’ I want to keep a doin’ long as God will let her live, which I’m afeard it won’t be mighty long, for she’s poorlier to-day ‘n I’ve seen her yet.”

To divert her from such painful remarks I asked if the Yankees had molested them since they had burned the house.

“Not such a mighty sight. They’ve tuck my chickens and vegetables, tho’ they wan’t nothin’ in the garden but turnips, but we’ve got some meat an’ a little corn. The wuss trouble we has is a continuwell fear they is goin’ to break in on us. Mr. Bemby he’s gone to town to-day to git a guard.”

“A guard!” I exclaimed, in much alarm; “then if we are discovered here you all are ruined. Ben and I can settle with half-a-dozen by ourselves, but I am truly alarmed for you.”

“Never do you mind, John,” said Ben, as he trotted a little white-headed scion on his knee; “she’ll fix all that; the old man aint coming back till to-morrow no how, and we’ll be off by light.”

Off by light! how the words sounded like a knell on my ears; off, to leave a dying mother and an unprotected wife and child in the lines of a merciless foe; off to fight, perhaps die for a now hopeless cause, leaving all I loved to misery and want. Ah, Mercy! let thy white wing oftenest shield the poor deserter at the stake, and Justice will have less complaint!

Carlotta now appeared at the door of mother’s chamber, and beckoned to me. Walking softly, with a bowed head and prayerful heart, I entered a small dark room, dimly lighted by a single candle and a flickering fire on the hearth. On an humble bed in the corner, with her crushed head bound with cloths and liniments, lay my mother, pale and thin, her sweet face illumined with bright surprise yet strange bewilderment.

“Be careful,” whispered Carlotta, as I paused on the threshold, “her mind is not perfectly clear.”

In another moment I was on my knees at the bedside, my face pressed upon her pillow, sobbing, ”Mother! oh my mother!” She did not speak, but laid her thin tremulous hand on my head and let it rest there. I was convulsed with grief to think of losing her after I had been away from her so long, and that she was dying under such distressing circumstances, without a home, under a strange roof, and with a consciousness of helpless dependence.

As in moments of great danger a retrospect of our whole lives rises before us, so in this deep distress all my acts of disobedience and unkindness toward mother; every time that I had wounded her feelings; every harsh word I had uttered, all came with cruel distinctness into memory to torture me, and I longed, in my agony, to ask her forgiveness for every one, and to assure her again and again of my love. But Carlotta’s warning, and the strange look on her face, made me afraid to speak, and I knelt with my face on the pillow, silently weeping, till she herself broke the silence of the chamber.

”Carlotta,” she said, in a voice so changed that I raised up to look at her, ”this is John, is it not? When did he come? Does he know that his father is dead?”

Carlotta made a sign to me not to speak, and drawing a chair up to the bedside, she took mother’s hand in her’s and said:

”Yes, mother, this is John. He knows all about father’s death, and about the burning of the house; and he has come through the Federal lines, at great risk, to see you. Can you not arouse yourself to talk to him! He wishes to know if you feel better to-night?”

Mother now gazed at me with the old look of fondness as she said:

”Is this my dear boy? and have you come to see your mother? God bless you for it! I will make the effort to speak with you; but oh! I cannot remain conscious. Now all that has transpired is perfectly clear and distinct before me, and I recognize my dear child’s face, and know why he has come; but presently a dull gray cloud, or something from afar off, will float up and envelope my mind, and all I know or remember becomes confused. Carlotta, darling, help me keep the cloud away.”

”I will, mother,” said Carlotta, dampening a cloth and laying it on her forehead; but even as the cool moisture touched her skin the vacant look came again to her face, and she asked, looking at me with earnest inquiry: ”John, have you brought your father home; is the grave ready? Go have it made wider. I am coming to lie by his side.”

Utterly helpless, we both sat watching and listening to her incoherent mutterings about father’s lonely grave, and her desire to go to it, till, dozing off into her stupor again, she was silent. In a few minutes she opened her eyes, and was for another interval herself again.

”John, my precious child,” she said, trying to put her arm around my neck and draw me down to her, ”God alone knows how I desire to talk with you, for this will be the last converse we will ever hold on earth. I do not wish to grieve you unnecessarily, but I feel that I am dying.”

”O mother, do not say so,” I sobbed, as I kissed her pale, emaciated cheek; ”God is too good to take you away from us.”

”He knows best, my son. His will be done! But I have not strength to say much, and even now I feel the cloud coming. Will you make me two promises? I want you to bring your father’s remains from Elmira, and bury them with me under the old cedar at home; ‘twas there I promised to be his bride in the long ago. And, John, something tells me that you had another motive, besides seeing me, in coming hither. Do you not seek Frank Paning’s life?”

My face flushed hotly as the thought that she might ask me to forgive Frank flashed upon me, and I felt that even her last request could not persuade me to forego my vengeance. But I answered quickly:

”No, mother, as Heaven is my witness, I only thought of you and Carlotta when I came here; but if Providence should throw the viper in my path, even you would have me crush him.”

”No, John, the dear Saviour prayed for those who nailed him to the cross, and bids us forgive as we would be forgiven.”

”But, mother,” I argued – though Carlotta shook her head at me and whispered, ”do as she requests” – ”Frank is so vile. He has partaken of our hospitality, and I have been his friend a thousand times, yet he has burnt our home, insulted Carlotta and murdered you; how can I ever forgive him?”