ret Goodsen is
taking care of him now. Come and see him, but he is out of his head, and
raves dreadfully."

She led the way to the chamber where Calhoun was. No sooner did Major
Crawford see him than he turned pale and staggered back, "Great God!" he
exclaimed.

What fate was it that had led the man he had shot to the house to be cared
for by his sister?

"What is it, Mark? What is it?" she cried, seeing his agitation.

Should he tell her? Yes, it would be best. "Joyce, you will not wonder at
my surprise, when I tell you it was I who shot him."

"You, brother, you!" she cried, and instinctively she shrank from him.

Mark saw it, and exclaimed, "Great God! Joyce, you don't blame me, do you?
I had to do it to save my life. He was about to cut me down with his sword
when I fired."

"No, no," she cried, "I don't blame you, but it was so sudden; it is so
dreadful. I never before realized that war was so terrible."

"Well, Joyce, save the poor fellow's life if you can; I don't want his
death on my hands if I can help it. Do you know who your prisoner is?"

"No, you see the condition he is in."

"His name is Pennington, Calhoun Pennington. He is one of Morgan's bravest
and most daring officers. I ought to know him, he took me prisoner twice."

"You, Mark, you?"

"Yes, you remember I told you how I lost my horse in Tennessee. He is the
fellow who took it. He afterwards captured me at Cave City."

"Mark, what will become of him if he gets well?" she asked.

"The United States officials will take him," he answered. "His being here
must be reported."

"And--and he will be sent to prison?"

"Yes, until he is exchanged."

"But you were not sent to prison when you were captured," she protested.

"No, I was paroled; but I hardly believe the government will parole any of
Morgan's men."

"Why?" she asked.

"They have given us too much trouble, Puss. Now we have them, I think we
will keep them."

"Mark, Aunt Matilda don't like my taking this Pennington in. She says
father will not like it at all."

"I will see Aunt Matilda, and tell her it is all right. I will also write
to father. No, Joyce, I don't want Pennington to die. It is best, even in
war, to know you have not killed a man. So take good care of him, or
rather see he has good care. Get a man to nurse him nights."

"I will look out for that," said Joyce.

"Well, Puss, good-bye, keep me posted. I had leave of absence only a few
hours, so I must be goi