THE KNIGHT PASSES

A telegram summoned the Blight
a home next day. Marston was in
bed with a ragged wound in the shoulder,
and I took her to tell him good-by. I left
the room for a few minutes, and when I
came back their hands were unclasping, and
for a Discarded Knight the engineer surely
wore a happy though pallid face.

That afternoon the train on which we
left the Gap was brought to a sudden halt
in Wildcat Valley by a piece of red flannel
tied to the end of a stick that was
planted midway the track. Across the
track, farther on, lay a heavy piece of
timber, and it was plain that somebody
meant that, just at that place, the train
must stop. The Blight and I were seated
on the rear platform and the Blight was
taking a last look at her beloved hills.
When the train started again, there was
a cracking of twigs overhead and a
shower of rhododendron leaves and
flowers dropped from the air at the feet
of the Blight. And when we pulled away
from the high-walled cut we saw, motionless
on a little mound, a black horse,
and on him, motionless, the Knight of the