sn't come!" And she poured out her sorrows into the bosom of
the sympathizing Helen, with whom suffering and sympathy made her at once
acquainted.

Just then the signal sounded for the train to be in readiness to start.
And there were hurried partings, and tears in many a soldier's eye. And
Frank's mother breathed into his ear her good-by counsel and blessing.
And Atwater was bidding his girl farewell, when a man came bounding along
the platform with a paper in his hand--the marriage license.

"Too late now!" said Atwater, with a glistening smile. "We are off!"

"But here is a minister!" cried Helen,--"Mr. Eggleston!--O, Captain
Edney! have the train wait until this couple can be married. It won't
take a minute!"

The case of the lovers was by this time well understood, not only by
Captain Edney and Mr. Egglestone, but also by the conductor of the train
and scores of soldiers and citizens. An interested throng crowded to
witness the ceremony. The licenses were in the hands of the minister, and
with his musket at _order arms_ by his right side, and his girl at his
left, Atwater stood up to be married, as erect and attentive as if he had
been going through the company drill. And in a few words Mr. Egglestone
married them, Frank holding Atwater's musket while he joined hands with
his bride.

In the midst of the laughter and applause which followed, the soldier,
with unchanging features, fumbled in his pocket for the marriage fee. He
gave it to Mr. Egglestone, who politely handed it to the bride. But she
returned it to her husband.

"You will need it more than I shall, Abram!"--forcing it, in spite of
him, back into his pocket. "Good-by!" she sobbed, kissing him. "Good-by,
my husband!"

This pleasing incident had served to lighten the pain of Frank's parting
with his friends. When sorrowful farewells are to be said, no matter how
quickly they are over. And they were over now; and Frank was on the
departing train, waving his cap for the last time to the friends he could
not see for the tears that dimmed his eyes.

And the cars rolled slowly away, amid cheers which drowned the sound of
weeping. And the bride who had had her husband for a moment only, and
lost him--perhaps forever,--and the mother who had given her son to her
country,--perhaps never to receive him back,--and other wives, and
mothers, and fathers, and sisters, were left behind, with all the untold
pangs of grief and anxious love in their hearts, gazing