"Poor woman!" exclaimed Captain Sybil, sympathetically; "I suppose it
seemed as if the wail of her daughter was blending with the tones of the
instrument. I think, Robert, there is a great deal more in the colored
people than we give them credit for. Did you know Captain Sellers?"

"The officer who escaped from prison and got back to our lines?" asked
Robert.

"Yes. Well, he had quite an experience in trying to escape. He came to
an aged couple, who hid him in their cabin and shared their humble food
with him. They gave him some corn-bread, bacon, and coffee which he
thought was made of scorched bran. But he said that he never ate a meal
that he relished more than the one he took with them. Just before he
went they knelt down and prayed with him. It seemed as if his very hair
stood on his head, their prayer was so solemn. As he was going away the
man took some shingles and nailed them on his shoes to throw the
bloodhounds off his track. I don't think he will ever cease to feel
kindly towards colored people. I do wonder what has become of the boys?
What can keep them so long?"

Just as Captain Sybil and Robert were wondering at the delay of Tom and
the soldiers they heard the measured tread of men who were slowly
bearing a burden. They were carrying Tom Anderson to the hospital,
fearfully wounded, and nigh to death. His face was distorted, and the
blood was streaming from his wounds. His respiration was faint, his
pulse hurried, as if life were trembling on its frailest cords.

Robert and Captain Sybil hastened at once towards the wounded man. On
Robert's face was a look of intense anguish, as he bent pityingly over