wept as we marched through the town, but my brave Margaret kept her
tears till we were gone, smiling, and waving her hand to me,--the
hand that wore the wedding-ring,--till I was out of sight. That
image of her is before me day and night, and day and night her last
words are ringing in my ears,--

"'I give you freely, do your best. Better a true man's widow than a
traitor's wife.'

"Boys, I've only stood on the right side for a month; I've only
fought one battle, earned one honor; but I believe these poor
achievements are an earnest of the long atonement I desire to make
for five and twenty years of blind transgression. You say I fight
well. Have I not cause to dare much?--for in owning many slaves, I
too became a slave; in helping to make many freemen, I liberate
myself. You wonder why I refused promotion. Have I any right to it
yet? Are there not men who never sinned as I have done, and beside
whose sacrifices mine look pitifully small? You tell me I have no
ambition. I have the highest, for I desire to become God's noblest
work,--an honest man,--living, to make Margaret happy, in a love
that every hour grows worthier of her own,--dying, to make death
proud to take me."

Phil had risen while he spoke, as if the enthusiasm of his mood
lifted him into the truer manhood he aspired to attain. Straight and
strong he stood up in the moonlight, his voice deepened by unwonted
energy, his eye clear and steadfast, his whole face ennobled by the
regenerating power of this late loyalty to country, wife, and self,
and bright against the dark blue of his jacket shone the pictured
face, the only medal he was proud to wear.