well-kept farm in Virginia. Before him,
at the distance of nearly a quarter of a mile, a large, handsome house
was visible, and by the wreath of smoke curling from the rear chimney,
he knew it was inhabited, and thought once to go there, and beg for the
food he craved so terribly. But fear kept him back--the people might be
Unionists, and might detain him a prisoner until the officers upon his
track came up. Dr. Richards was cowardly, and so with a groan, he laid
his head upon the grass, and half wished that he had died ere he came to
be the miserable wretch he was. The pain in his ankle was by this time
intolerable, and the limb was swelling so fast that to walk on the
morrow was impossible, and if he found a shelter at all, it must be
found that night.

Midway between himself and the house was a comfortable-looking barn,
whither he resolved to go. But the journey was a tedious one, and
brought to his flushed forehead great drops of sweat, wrung out by the
agony it caused him to step upon his foot. At last, when he could bear
his weight upon it no longer, he sank upon the ground, and crawling
slowly upon his hands and knees, reached the barn just as it was growing
dark, and the shadows creeping into the corners made him half shrink
with terror lest they were the bayonets of those whose coming he was
constantly expecting. He could not climb to the scaffolding, and so he
sought a friendly pile of hay, and crouching down behind it, ere long
fell asleep for the first time in three long days and nights.

The early June sun was just shining through the cracks between the
boards when he awoke, sore, stiff, feverish, burning with thirst, and
utterly unable to use the poor, swollen foot, which lay so helplessly
upon the hay.

"Oh, for Anna now," he moaned; "if she were only here; or Lily, dear
Lily, she would pity and forgive, could she see me now."

But hark, what sound is it which falls upon his ear, making him quake
with fear, and, in spite of his aching ankle, creep farther behind the
hay? It is a footstep--a light, tripping step, and it comes that way,
nearer, nearer, until a shadow falls between the open chinks and the
bright sunshine without. Then it moves on, around the corner, pausing
for a moment, while the hidden coward holds his breath, and listens
anxiously, hoping nothing is coming there. But there is, and it enters
the same door through which he came the previous night--a girlish
figure, with a basket on her