must be moved to their big,
roomy, lovely house on the bay side, and be made strong and well
again--made to give up those letters, too, thought she; for she had
wormed it out of a bystander that a packet of some kind had been given by
the dying soldier to the lieutenant, and she well knew what it must be.
She had even penned him a little note, since not a whisper could be
safely exchanged, and headed it "Give this back to me the moment you have
read it." In it she reminded him of his promise, and--did he need to be
reminded of hers? She knew that packet of Nita's letters had been
intrusted to his care. She assured him she had it straight from the
surgeon who attended both Latrobe and himself, and they must reach the
hands of no man on earth, but must come to her. Would he not give them at
once or tell her where she could find them?

He gave back the note, but closed his eyes and turned away. In the
presence of Armstrong day after day, and in the recollection of Latrobe's
dying face and the last parting touch of his stricken hand, Gray's eyes
were opening to his own deplorable weakness. She plainly saw her power
was going, if not gone. He had wrapped a silk handkerchief about the
packet and still kept it, with his watch and purse beneath his pillow. He
would not tell her where it lay. She smiled archly for the benefit of the
attendant; but her eyes again eagerly claimed a look from his, her lips
framed the word "to-morrow."

But neither on that morrow nor yet the next day came her opportunity. The
gallant fellow who had lain there for days, dumb and patient, but a
barrier to her plans, had taken a turn for the worse, and she was again
denied admission. Then came the tidings that the barrier was removed, the
long fight was over; and the heartless woman actually rejoiced. Now at
last she could talk to Will Gray; and when midnight came she knew that
now at last she must, for Frank Garrison, worn and weary, returning late
from the front, briefly announced that General Drayton purposed visiting
the hospital the following afternoon, and long before noon--long before
visiting hours, in fact, she was there with flowers as winsome as her
smile, and some jelly as dainty as her own fair hands. She was there, and
the instant the hour sounded was ushered in, and Billy Gray, propped on
his pillows, was writing to his father, and alone. No time was to be
lost. Any moment the attendant might return. She threw herself on her
knees besid