cousin, Miranda."

"Yes, Harold, what of her?"

"Beverly, she is within a rifle-shot of where we stand, very sick--dying
I believe."

"Good God, Harold! what strange tale is this?"

"I am in command of an advanced picket, stationed at the old farm-house
yonder. Toward dusk this evening, a carriage drove up, and when
challenged, a pass was presented, with orders to assist the bearer,
Miranda Ayleff, beyond the lines. I remembered the name, and stepping to
the carriage door, beheld two females, one of whom was bending over her
companion, and holding a vial, a restorative, I suppose, to her lips.

"'She has fainted, sir,' said the woman, 'and is very ill. I'm afraid
she won't last till she gets to Richmond. Can't you help her; isn't
there a surgeon among you at the farm-house there?'

"We had no surgeon, but I had her taken into the house, and made as
comfortable as possible. When she recovered from her swoon, she asked
for you, and repeatedly for Oriana, and would not be comforted until I
promised her that she should be taken immediately on to Richmond. 'She
could not die there, among strangers,' she said; 'she must see one
friend before she died. She must go home at once and be forgiven.' And
thus she went, half in delirium, until I feared that her life would pass
away, from sheer exhaustion. I determined to ride over to your picket at
once, not dreaming, however, that you were in command. At dawn to-morrow
we shall probably be relieved, and it might be beyond my power then to