might."

"Living forever!" repeated Septimius, his attention arrested, even at that
breathless moment, by words that rang so strangely on what had been his
brooding thought.

"Yes; but I have lost my chance," said the young officer. Then, as
Septimius helped him to lie against the little hillock of a decayed and
buried stump, "Thank you; thank you. If you could only call back one of my
comrades to hear my dying words. But I forgot. You have killed me, and
they would take your life."

In truth, Septimius was so moved and so astonished, that he probably would
have called back the young man's comrades, had it been possible; but,
marching at the swift rate of men in peril, they had already gone far
onward, in their passage through the shrubbery that had ceased to rustle
behind them.

"Yes; I must die here!" said the young man, with a forlorn expression, as
of a school-boy far away from home, "and nobody to see me now but you, who
have killed me. Could you fetch me a drop of water? I have a great
thirst."

Septimius, in a dream of horror and pity, rushed down the hill-side; the
house was empty, for Aunt Keziah had gone for shelter and sympathy to some
of the neighbors. He filled a jug with cold water, and hurried back to the
hill-top, finding the young officer looking paler and more deathlike
within those few moments.

"I thank you, my enemy that was, my friend that is," murmured he, faintly