he could not hold out more than a second longer, but while
he had strength he kept at bay.

His life was not worth a moment's purchase,--when, with a shout that
rang over the field, the old Lion rode down through the carnage to his
rescue, his white hair floating in the wind, his azure eyes flashing
with war-fire, his holster-pistol levelled; spurred his horse through
the struggle, trampled aside all that opposed him, dashed untouched
through the cross-fire of the bullets, shot through the brain the man
whose rifle covered his son who had reeled down insensible, and
stooping, raised the senseless body, lifted him up by sheer manual
strength to the level of his saddle-bow, laid him across his holsters,
holding him up with his right hand, and, while the Federals fell asunder
in sheer amazement at the sudden onslaught, and admiration of the old
man's daring, plunged the rowels into his horse, and, breaking through
the reeking slaughter of the battle-field, rode back, thus laden with
his prisoner, through the incessant fire of the cannonade up the heights
to the Federal lines.

"If you were to lie dying at my feet!"--his father remembered those
words, that had been spoken five years before in the fury of a deadly
passion, as Bertie lay stretched before him in his tent, the blood
flowing from the deep shot-wound in his side, his eyes closed, his face
livid, and about his lips a faint and ghastly foam.

Had he saved him too late? had he too late repented?

His heart had yearned to him when, in the morning light, he had looked
once more upon the face of his son, as the Virginian Horse had swept on
to the shock of the charge; and all of wrath, of bitterness, of hatred,
of dark, implacable, unforgiving vengeance, were quenched and gone for
ever from his soul as he stooped over him where he lay at his feet,
stricken and senseless in all the glory of his manhood. He only knew
that he loved the man--he only knew that he would have died for him, or
died with him.

Bertie stirred faintly, with a heavy sigh, and his left hand moved
towards his breast. Old Sir Lion bent over him, while his voice shook
terribly, like a woman's.

"Bertie! My God! don't you know _me_?"

He opened his eyes and looked wearily and dreamily around; he did not
know what had passed, nor where he was; but a faint light of wonder, of
pleasure, of recognition, came into his eyes, and he smiled--a smile
that was very gentle and very wistful.

"I am glad