atmosphere, then the small things are blown away. The bitterness
of the fight has faded for me. I only feel the love of country, the
satisfaction of giving my life for it. The speech--that speech--has
made it look higher and simpler--your side as well as ours. I would
like to put my hand in Abraham Lincoln's--"

The clear, deep voice, with its hesitations, its catch of weakness,
stopped short. Convulsively the hand shot out and caught at the great
fingers that hung near him, pulling the President, with the strength
of agony, to his knees by the cot. The prisoner was writhing in an
attack of mortal pain, while he held, unknowing that he held it, the
hand of his new friend in a torturing grip. The door of death had
opened wide and a stormy wind was carrying the bright, conquered
spirit into that larger atmosphere of which he had spoken. Suddenly
the struggle ceased, the unconscious head rested in the boy's arms,
and the hand of the Southern soldier lay quiet, where he had wished to
place it, in the hand of Abraham Lincoln.