ht of her, his promised wife, and of the bliss awaiting a
gallant soldier's return.

It was just one week later the letter came. Few received mail that day;
he was one who did. My attention was first called to him by the sound
of a moan that seemed to come from a heart utterly broken. He stood
leaning against a caisson staring at the letter, his face deathly white.
Instinctively I realized it all. It was from her, and its message was as
some stroke of lightning from a cloudless sky. Mutely he came to me,
pressed the letter in my hand, and turned away.

A glance through its lines told me the worst; that while she admired his
courage and unselfishness more than any man in the world, and always
would, still, as she did not, could never, love him as she felt a wife
should love her husband, would he now release her and give up their
engagement!

Knowing him as I did, noble, unselfish, and devotedly, tenderly loving
her with all his soul, most deeply did I pity him. It was the supreme
hour and crisis of his life. If there were ever a time when he needed
her love to sustain him, when day and night he grappled with death and
fought with all his soul, as only the patriot _can_ fight, it was now.

It was the beginning of the end. Sub-consciously I sensed impending
tragedy, and was depressed beyond expression. Not indeed that he became
morose, ugly or unsoldierly. On the contrary, never was he more
attentive to Battery duties or considerate toward his men. Bravely would
he laugh and jest and try to appear happy; but I knew it was all merely
heroic endeavor, and that his heart was utterly broken. If he gave
expression to his loss at all it was through his violin. It was all in a
minor strain, and its notes were of the soul of one

"Who treads alone,
Some banquet hall deserted:
Whose lights are fled, and garlands dead,
All, all save he departed."

It was the afternoon of ten days later. In an orchard on a hillside his
Battery had just come into position. By some alert enemy-observing plane
the movement had evidently been noted, for it was not seven minutes
later that a high explosive shell came screaming over the hill, directly
hitting his gun, instantly killing gunner No. 1, and mortally wounding
himself.

Ten minutes later I reached his side. He was still conscious, had
received First Aid, but was sinking rapidly. "I am not afraid to die,
Chaplain. It's my turn I guess. There is a letter here in my blo