out him, could not believe his own wound more
fatal than these, for all the suffering it caused him.

"Shall I write to your mother, now?" I asked, thinking that these
sudden tidings might change all plans and purposes; but they did not;
for the man received the order of the Divine Commander to march with
the same unquestioning obedience with which the soldier had received
that of the human one; doubtless remembering that the first led him to
life, and the last to death.

"No, ma'am; to Laurie just the same; he'll break it to her best, and
I'll add a line to her myself when you get done."

So I wrote the letter which he dictated, finding it better than any I
had sent; for, though here and there a little ungrammatical or
inelegant, each sentence came to me briefly worded, but most
expressive; full of excellent counsel to the boy, tenderly bequeathing
"mother and Lizzie" to his care, and bidding him good bye in words the
sadder for their simplicity. He added a few lines, with steady hand,
and, as I sealed it, said, with a patient sort of sigh, "I hope the
answer will come in time for me to see it;" then, turning away his
face, laid the flowers against his lips, as if to hide some quiver of
emotion at the thought of such a sudden sundering of all the dear home
ties.

These things had happened two days before; now John was dying, and the
letter had not come. I had been summoned to many death beds in my life,
but to none that made my heart ache as it did then, since my mother
called me to watch the departure of a spirit akin to this in its
gentleness and patient strength. As I went in, John stretched out both
hands:

"I know you'd come! I guess I'm moving on, ma'am."

He was; and so rapidly that, even while he spoke, over his face I saw
the grey veil falling that no human hand can lift. I sat down by him,
wiped the drops from his forehead, stirred the air about him with the
slow wave of a fan, and waited to help him die. He stood in sore need
of help--and I could do so little; for, as the doctor had foretold, the
strong body rebelled against death, and fought every inch of the way,
forcing him to draw each breath with a spasm, and clench his hands with
an imploring look, as if he asked, "How long must I endure this, and be
still!" For hours he suffered dumbly, without a moment's respire, or a
moment's murmuring; his limbs grew cold, his face damp, his lips white,
and, again and again, he tore the covering off his brea