“Daddy! Will they kill the Colonel?”

For a moment he could not answer.  Then, with a groan he gave back his answer:  “I hope not, darling.  I hope not!”

Down the road a riderless horse was coming, head up and stirrups flying.  As it galloped past Cary scrutinized it closely and was glad he did not recognize it.  In its wake came soldiers, infantry and dismounted cavalry, firing, retreating, loading and firing again, but always retreating.

“Here come the stragglers,” he cried.  “We’re whipping ’em!  Close, darling, close.  Lie down against the wall.”

He crouched above her, shielding her as best he could with his body.  Then, suddenly, a man in blue leaped on the wall not ten feet away.  He had meant to seize the wall as a breastwork and fight from behind it, but before he dropped down he would fire one last shot.  His gun came up to his shoulder—­he aimed at some unseen foe and fired.  But from somewhere, out of the crash of sound and the rolling powder smoke, a singing missile came and found its mark.  The man in blue bent over suddenly, wavered, then toppled down inside the wall, his gun ringing on the stones as he fell.

“Daddy!” the child whispered, with ashen face, “it’s the biscuit man.  It’s HARRY!”

Her father’s hand went out instinctively to cover her eyes.  “Don’t look, dear!  Don’t look!”

The road was choked now.  Cavalry and infantry, all in a mad rush for the rear, were tearing by while the two field pieces which but a moment ago had gone into action with such a deadly whirl came limping back with slashed traces and splintered wheels.  With fascinated eyes the Rebel officer watched from behind his wall, while everything, even his child, was forgotten in the lust for victory.  And so he did not hear the faint voice behind him that cried out in an agony of thirst and pain.

“Water!  Water!  Help!  Someone—­give water!”

Virgie, with dilated eyes and heaving breast, crouched low as long as she could and then gave up everything to the pitiful appeal ringing in her ears.  Quick as a flash, she sped away on bare feet over rocks and sharp, pointed branches of fallen trees to the spring, where she caught up a cup and filled it to the brim.  Another swift rush and she reached the fallen man in blue and had the cup at his lips, while her arm went under his head to lift it.

“Virgie!” her father cried, frantic at the sight.  With a great leap he was at her side, forcing her down to the ground and covering her with his body.

The trooper’s head sank back and his eyes began to dull.

“May God bless ye, little one,” he murmured.  “Heaven—­Mary—­_!_” His lips gave out one long, shuddering sigh.  His body grew slack and his chin fell.  Trooper Harry O’Connell had fought his last fight—­had passed to his final review.

One look at the boyish face so suddenly gone gray and bloodless and Gary caught Virgie up in his arms.  “Come dear, you can’t help him any more,” and with a crouching run they were back once more in the shelter of the wall.