ulse was growing stronger and
stronger and he uttered half-spoken words while his head moved slightly
upon her knees.

She did not know how long she had been there, and she looked back again
toward the field. It was now wholly in darkness, then lighted dimly by a
fitful flash of lightning. She must carry him to shelter, and without
taking thought, she tried to lift him in her arms. He was heavy, lying
like lead, and she put him down again, but very softly. She must go for
help. Then she heard once more the tread of those riderless horses and
feared for him. She could not leave him there alone. She made a mighty
effort, lifted him in her arms, and staggered toward the battlefield.

CHAPTER XX

THE SECRETARY LOOKS ON

The old house in the woods which still lay within the Confederate lines
became a hospital before morning, and when General Wood turned away from
it he beheld a woman staggering through the darkness, carrying a strange
burden. It was Lucia Catherwood, and when she came nearer he knew that
the burden was a man. He saw then that the girl's expression was one
that he had never before seen on the face of woman. As he ran forward
she gasped:

"Take him; it is Captain Prescott!"

Full of wonder, but with too much delicacy under his rough exterior to
ask questions, the mountaineer lifted Prescott in his arms and carried
him into the house, where he was placed on the bed beside Harley, who
was unconscious, too. Lucia Catherwood followed alone. She had been
borne up by the impulse of excessive emotion, but she was exhausted now
by her mighty effort. She thought she was going to faint--she who had
never fainted in her life--and leaned against the outside wall of the
house, dizzy and trembling. Black shadows, not those of the night,
floated before her eyes, and the house moved away; but she recovered
herself in a few moments and went in.

Improvised beds and cots were in every room, and many of the wounded lay
on the floor, too. Mixed with them were some in blue just as on the
other side of the battlefield were some in gray mixed with the blue.
There was a powerful odour of drugs, of antiseptics, and Helen and Mrs.
Markham were tearing cloth into strips.

Prescott lay a long time awaiting his turn at the surgeon's hand--so
long that it seemed to Lucia Catherwood it would never come; but she
stayed by his side and did what she could, though conscious that both
Mrs. Markham and Helen were watching her at