ye at once; but even then I doubted, such
an awful change had come upon him, when, turning to the ticket just
above his head, I saw the name, "Robert Dane." That both assured and
touched me, for, remembering that he had no name, I knew that he had
taken mine. I longed for him to speak to me, to tell how he had fared
since I lost sight of him, and let me perform some little service for
him in return for many he had done for me; but he seemed asleep; and as
I stood re-living that strange night again, a bright lad, who lay next
him softly waving an old fan across both beds, looked up and said,--

"I guess you know him, Ma'am?"

"You are right. Do you?"

"As much as any one was able to, Ma'am."

"Why do you say 'was,' as if the man were dead and gone?"

"I s'pose because I know he'll have to go. He's got a bad jab in the
breast, an' is bleedin' inside, the Doctor says. He don't suffer any,
only gets weaker 'n' weaker every minute. I've been fannin' him this
long while, an' he's talked a little; but he don't know me now, so he's
most gone, I guess."

There was so much sorrow and affection in the boy's face, that I
remembered something, and asked, with redoubled interest,--

"Are you the one that brought him off? I was told about a boy who
nearly lost his life in saving that of his mate."

I dare say the young fellow blushed, as any modest lad might have done;
I could not see it, but I heard the chuckle of satisfaction that
escaped him, as he glanced from his shattered arm and bandaged side to
the pale figure opposite.

"Lord, Ma'am, that's nothin'; we boys always stan' by one another, an'
I warn't goin' to leave him to be tormented any more by them cussed
Rebs. He's been a slave once, though he don't look half so much like
it as me, an' was born in Boston."

He did not; for the speaker was as black as the ace of spades,--being a
sturdy specimen, the knave of clubs would perhaps be a fitter
representative,--but the dark freeman looked at the white slave with
the pitiful, yet puzzled expression I have so often seen on the faces
of our wisest men, when this tangled question of Slavery presents
itself, asking to be cut or patiently undone.

"Tell me what you know of this man; for, even if he were awake, he is
too weak to talk."

"I never saw him till I joined the regiment, an' no one 'peared to have
got much out of him. He was a shut-up sort of feller, an' didn't seem
to care for anything but gettin' at the