Saint Mary's beacon. [volume] (Leonard Town, Md.) 1867-1983, 1914-03-12

istse botcs IEom aunt Emma a.
tached TO it. So the days glided
BY. lonely and uncheered; and wors,
Of all. the patient was growing
worse. What manner of man hs
was in his natural condition shs
could not tell. His own mothel
would not have known him now.
But his language was not that of an
ignorant person, through his cloth.
ing had been so poor. Martha be.
gan to feel q strange interest in
him, 20 wonder what his story might
have been, and to think that if hs
died she shonld wish TO know who
he was, that she might tell his
friends all that there was to tell
about him.
Missy, said Jim one night. II
powerful sleepy. S'pose Missy be
skeered to sit up alone?
No Jim, said Martha, lie down
and sleep upon the kitchen lounge.
| will call yoa If / want you.
Then she took up her watch in
the infected room. She also was
sleepy. but she fought with slumber
bravely. Outside the rain beat
against the panes; within the patient
babbled in an awsome sort of way.
Hitherto he seemed addressing real
people.
] say. Johnny Reb-I say-just
u drop. I'm burning with thirst.
A mouthful of water and a piece Of
bread. j say. I'd give it to you
d-Lord help US! look at his feet
look! the one that died jusl now.
Starving! starving! o for the scraps
the dogs used to have at home! Oh!
Ah! All! he's crossed the dead line,
and they've shot him down. Lord
hele us!
The girl was on her feet, and at
his SIDE.
He must have been . soldier, she
said, as she held the cooling drink
to his lips. An Andersonville pris-
oner, perhaps.
The man swallowed the contents
of the cup greedily.
Good! he s:id.
1t was his first acknowledgment
of any comfort or alienation, and
it did the nurses heart good.
Ah, you're not so bad, Johnny
Reb. Get II for me, Won't yous
1t was here. You look it. Give it
back
What? said Martha, speaking
slowly. Tell me what.
Her picture. said the man. He
felt about his neck. All! give il
back, he moaned. ! want to die
with it here. It can't do you any
good-give il back.
the girl remembered that Jim had
taken something from the mans
neck when he took off his weather
stained garments, and had placed il
in little tin box on a ce. tain shelf
in the room. Leaving the bedside.
she went to the box and peeped in
There lay a plain gold locket.
His sweetheart or his wife, ]
suppose, she said to herself, and
with q natural curiosity, opened T. G
case. Within it was her own por-
trait-the little photograph which
she had given William Price when
they pa ted
The poor girl felt that she needed
all her courage. The hope that sud.
denly possessed her seemed like
madness. She crept back to the
bedside and looked at the face upon
the pillow. There was no possibil
ity of recognizing that. The hair
was like Williams, but there wa.
a bald spot on the crown, and Viii.
liam had worn no beard whatever.
Oh, Father in Heaven! cried Mar.
tha, folding her hands and press.
ing them against her heart, teacl
me the truth. If this is William
lying here before me, let me know
it. II I am dreaming cure me oi
my madness.
Here is the picture, she said, in Z
cal ner tome, a few moments after
Whose picture is it?
Hers, said the man, groping il
his blindness.
The locket touched his hand, Il
clasped it fervently.
I've got it now, he said. You
shall never have it again. / told
he: it should die with me. It shall,
Martha-dear Martha.
And then Martha knew that il
was the one whom she had mourneC
IS dead who lay before her; losth
some To the sight, unconscious oi
her presence; doomtd, perhaps, {,
death: bu, she had found hiw,
IL was he. A strange mixture o
horror and delight possessed her