places, without pay,
have cared for hundreds and hundreds of our wounded."

Prescott had another errand upon which his conscience bade him hasten,
but casting one glance through the window he saw the soaking streets and
the increasing rain, swept in wild gusts by the fierce wind. Then the
warmth and light of the place, the hum of talk and perhaps the spirit of
youth infolded him and he stayed.

There were thirty or forty men in the room, some civilians and others
soldiers, two bearing upon their shoulders the stripes of a general.
Four carried their arms in slings and three had crutches beside their
chairs. One of the generals was not over twenty-three years of age, but
this war furnished younger generals than he, men who won their rank by
sheer hard service on great battlefields.

The majority of the men were playing faro, roulette or keno, and the
others sat in softly upholstered chairs and talked. Liquors were served
from a bar in the corner, where dozens of brightly polished glasses of
all shapes and sizes glittered on marble and reflected the light of the
gas in vivid colours.

Prescott's mind traveled back to long, lonely watches in the dark forest
under snow and rain, in front of the enemy's outposts, and he admitted
that while the present might be very wicked it was also very pleasant.

He gave himself up for a little while to the indulgence of his physical
senses, and then began to examine those in the room, his eyes soon
resting upon the one who was most striking in appearance. It was a time
of young men, and this stranger was young like most of the others,
perhaps under twenty-five. He was of middle height, very thick and
broad, and his frame gave the impression of great muscular strength and
endurance. A powerful neck supported a great head surmounted by a crop
of hair like a lion's mane. His complexion was as delicate as a woman's,
but his pale blue eyes were bent close to the table as he wagered his
money with an almost painful intentness, and Prescott saw that the
gaming madness was upon him.

Talbot's eyes followed Prescott's and he smiled.

"I don't wonder that you are looking at Raymond," he said. "He is sure
to attract attention anywhere. You are beholding one of the most
remarkable men the South has produced."

Prescott recognized the name as that of the editor of the _Patriot_, a
little newspaper published on a press traveling in a wagon with the
Western army until a month since, when it ha