ent. Mary gave it to me for a
keepsake. Take it out."

Butler drew forth the small volume.

"What shall I do with it?" he asked, in a mournful whisper.

"Give it to Mary, back from me. And this plait of her hair upon my
wrist, major, take it and wear it on your own; it will remind you of my
Mary--you will guard her from harm."

"Before God, John Ramsay," said Butler with solemn fervor, "I promise
you, that, while I live, she shall not want. Your parents, too, shall be
my special care."

"Then I shall die with easier heart. Thanks, thanks--friends, farewell!"
feebly ejaculated the stricken soldier, whose eye, already glazed with
the pangs of death, now glanced upon the attending group, and after a
brief but painful interval closed in darkness.

John Ramsay spake no more, and his short breathing showed that life was
fast ebbing in its channel. The audible sobs of Butler, for some
moments, were alone heard in the circle, as he sat supporting the head
and grasping the hand of his brave comrade. The struggle was at last
over, and the gallant spirit of the generous soldier had fled. Butler
took from the wrist the bracelet of Mary's hair, which was now stained
with the blood of its late owner, and with an earnest vow to redeem his
promise, drew it over his own hand.

The scene that followed this melancholy adventure was one of solemn
interest. The proximity of the enemy, although defeated, rendered a
delay at this spot, in the present circumstances of Butler, exceedingly
hazardous; yet he could not entertain the thought of continuing his
journey until he had communicated to David Ramsay the distressing
tidings of his son's death. The last request of John seemed also to
impose this task upon him as a sacred obligation, due to the friendship
which had terminated in so disastrous an end. Butler's resolution,
therefore, was soon taken. He determined immediately, at all hazards, to
make his way back to Ramsay's cottage, and to endeavor to console the
afflicted parents under their severe bereavement. Disdaining, in his
present state of feeling, the disguise that seemed to make him almost a
stranger to himself, he threw aside the miller's dress and again
appeared in his true character, resolved manfully to meet what he now
believed to be the almost certain result--a recapture with all its
probable consequences. Some of his party, who were acquainted with the
localities of their present position, suggested to him that a Whig