down the order came to "cease firing." For the yells from below had
ceased too; the rattling and grinding were receding with the smoke
farther to the left. The ominous central cloud parted for a brief moment
and showed the unexpected sun glittering down the slope upon a near and
peaceful river.

The young artillery officer had dismounted and was now gently examining
the dead man. His breast had been crushed by a fragment of shell; he
must have died instantly. The same missile had cut the chain of a locket
which slipped from his opened coat. The officer picked it up with a
strange feeling--perhaps because he was conscious himself of wearing a
similar one, perhaps because it might give him some clue to the man's
identity. It contained only the photograph of a pretty girl, a tendril
of fair hair, and the word "Sally." In the breast-pocket was a sealed
letter with the inscription, "For Miss Sally Dows. To be delivered if I
fall by the mudsill's hand." A faint smile came over the officer's face;
he was about to hand the articles to a sergeant, but changed his mind
and put them in his pocket.

Meantime the lane and woods beyond, and even the slope itself, were
crowding with supports and waiting troops. His own battery was still
unlimbered, waiting orders. There was a slight commotion in the lane.

"Very well done, captain. Smartly taken and gallantly held."

It was the voice of a general officer passing with his staff. There was
a note of pleasant relief in its tone, and the middle-aged, care-drawn
face of its owner was relaxed in a paternal smile. The young captain
flushed with pleasure.