niversity of Hell--the scream of
eagles, the howl of wolves, the bay of tigers, the roar of lions--all
locked in Death's embrace, and each mad scene lit by the glare of
volcanoes of savage passions!

But the long agony was over.

The city bells began to ring. The guns of the forts joined the chorus, and
their deep steel throats roared until the earth trembled.

Just across the street a mother who was reading the fateful news turned
and suddenly clasped a boy to her heart, crying for joy. The last draft of
half a million had called for him.

The Capital of the Nation was shaking off the long nightmare of horror and
suspense. More than once the city had shivered at the mercy of those
daring men in gray, and the reveille of their drums had startled even the
President at his desk.

Again and again had the destiny of the Republic hung on the turning of a
hair, and in every crisis, Luck, Fate, God, had tipped the scale for the
Union.

A procession of more than five hundred Confederate deserters, who had
crossed the lines in groups, swung into view, marching past the hospital,
indifferent to the tumult. Only a nominal guard flanked them as they
shuffled along, tired, ragged, and dirty. The gray in their uniforms was
now the colour of clay. Some had on blue pantaloons, some, blue vests,
others blue coats captured on the field of blood. Some had pieces of
carpet, and others old bags around their shoulders. They had been passing
thus for weeks. Nobody paid any attention to them.

"One of the secrets of the surrender!" exclaimed Doctor Barnes. "Mr.
Lincoln has been at the front for the past weeks with offers of peace and
mercy, if they would lay down their arms. The great soul of the President,
even the genius of Lee could not resist. His smile began to melt those
gray ranks as the sun is warming the earth to-day."

"You are a great admirer of the President," said the girl, with a curious
smile.

"Yes, Miss Elsie, and so are all who know him."

She turned from the window without reply. A shadow crossed her face as she
looked past the long rows of cots, on which rested the men in blue, until
her eyes found one on which lay, alone among his enemies, a young
Confederate officer.

The surgeon turned with her toward the man.

"Will he live?" she asked.

"Yes, only to be hung."

"For what?" she cried.

"Sentenced by court-martial as a guerilla. It's a lie, but there's some
powerful hand back of it--some mysterious in