Good-by, Bob, good-by."

But Bob was asleep and did not answer.

It was with the ebbing of the night and the coming of the dawn that
Bob's soul went out,--went out in stress and travail.

When the struggle was over, Sydney left the old doctor and his wife
kneeling side by side at the edge of the bed, and crept down-stairs.
Von Rittenheim was sitting before the fire, his head buried in his
hands. He sprang to meet her as she entered.

"Is he----? Has he----?"

The girl nodded.

"Just now."

Suddenly she threw her arms over her head and broke into stifled sobs.

Friedrich was torn with distress. He drew her to the fire, and
established her in a big chair, wrapping her warmly in a rug from the
couch. Somewhere he found a glass of wine, and made her take it. Then
he knelt beside her, rubbing the fingers that were cold and cramped
from Bob's long clasp, and talking softly to her as to a child.

God alone knows the force he put upon himself not to take her in his
arms and comfort her on his breast; not to pour into her ears the words
that were burning his heart out. Drops of moisture stood on his
forehead as he resisted the temptation that was the stronger because he
felt that she returned his love, and that these forbidden words would
be her greatest comfort. But Sydney was not insensible of their subtle,
unspoken sympathy, and at last yielded to the solace of warmth and the
consciousness of being cared for, and, exhausted, closed her eyes in
sleep.

Friedrich stirred the fire and watched its light play on the face of
the woman he loved, and gave himself up to wonder and longing and
regret.

* * * * *

Unless it had been that of Dr. Morgan himself, no other death in all
the country round could have touched so nearly so many hearts. Around
the grave, lined with the glistening laurel-leaves of victory, stood
old and young, rich and poor, men and women, and even little children.
There were those who had come because he was the Doctor's son; there
were those who had been with him on many a gay excursion; there were
those who had experienced his tenderness and loving-kindness. Old man
Johnson, from over the river, who had walked eight painful miles, laid
the first shovelful of earth into the grave. Patton McRae helped to
cover his life-long friend. The negroes from the farm sobbed audibly as
they worked. A tramp came into the graveyard from the road and asked
whose buryin'