ad in disgust.

Mary looked an instant at two bare, rakish, yellow poles showing out
against the clump of cypresses, and the trim little white hull and
apple-green deck from which they sprang, then clasped her hands and ran
into the house.

CHAPTER LVIII.

A GOLDEN SUNSET.

Dr. Sevier came to Richling's room one afternoon, and handed him a
sealed letter. The postmark was blurred, but it was easy still to read
the abbreviation of the State's name,--Kentucky. It had come by way of
New York and the sea. The sick man reached out for it with avidity from
the large bed in which he sat bolstered up. He tore it open with
unsteady fingers, and sought the signature.

"It's from a lawyer."

"An old acquaintance?" asked the doctor.

"Yes," responded Richling, his eyes glancing eagerly along the lines.
"Mary's in the Confederate lines!--Mary and Alice!" The hand that held
the letter dropped to his lap. "It doesn't say a word about how she got
through!"

"But _where_ did she get through?" asked the physician. "Whereabouts is
she now?"

"She got through away up to the eastward of Corinth, Mississippi.
Doctor, she may be within fifty miles of us this very minute! Do you
think they'll give her a pass to come in?"

"They may, Richling; I hope they will."

"I think I'd get well if she'd come," said the invalid. But his friend
made no answer.

A day or two afterward--it was drawing to the close of a beautiful
afternoon in early May--Dr. Sevier came into the room and stood at a
window looking out. Madame Zenobie sat by the bedside softly fanning the
patient. Richling, with his eyes, motioned her to retire. She smiled and
nodded approvingly, as if to say that that was just what she was about
to propose, and went out, shutting the door with just sound enough to
announce her departure to Dr. Sevier.

He came from the window to the bedside and sat down. The sick man looked
at him, with a feeble eye, and said, in little more than a whisper:--

"Mary and Alice"--

"Yes," said the Doctor.

"If they don't come to-night they'll be too late."

"God knows, my dear boy!"

"Doctor"--

"What, Richling?"

"Did you ever try to guess"--

"Guess what, Richling?"

"_His_ use of my life."

"Why, yes, my poor boy, I have tried. But I only make out its use to
me."

The sick man's eye brightened.

"Has it been?"

The Doctor nodded. He reached out and took the wasted hand in his. It
tried to answer his pressure. The i