But the sleeper stirred wearily, and woke with a start.  He turned over.  The face, so yellow and peaked, was of the type that grows even more handsome in sickness, and in the great fever-stricken eyes a high spirit burned.  For an instant only the man stared at Stephen, and then he dragged himself to the wall.

The eyes of the other two were both fixed on the young Union Captain.

“My God!” cried Jennison, seizing Stephen’s rigid arm, “does he look as bad as that?  We’ve seen him every day.”

“I—­I know him,” answered Stephen.  He stepped quickly to the bedside, and bent over it.  “Colfax!” he said.  “Colfax!”

“This is too much, Jennison,” came from the bed a voice that was pitifully weak; “why do you bring Yankees in here?”

“Captain Brice is a friend of yours, Colfax,” said the Colonel, tugging at his mustache.

“Brice?” repeated Clarence, “Brice?  Does he come from St. Louis?”

“Do you come from St. Louis, sir?”

“Yes.  I have met Captain Colfax—­”

“Colonel, sir.”

“Colonel Colfax, before the war!  And if he would like to go to St. Louis, I think I can have it arranged at once.”

In silence they waited for Clarence’s answer Stephen well knew what was passing in his mind, and guessed at his repugnance to accept a favor from a Yankee.  He wondered whether there was in this case a special detestation.  And so his mind was carried far to the northward to the memory of that day in the summer-house on the Meramee heights.  Virginia had not loved her cousin then—­of that Stephen was sure.  But now,—­now that the Vicksburg army was ringing with his praise, now that he was unfortunate—­Stephen sighed.  His comfort was that he would be the instrument.

The lady in her uneasiness smoothed the single sheen that covered the sick man.  From afar came the sound of cheering, and it was this that seemed to rouse him.  He faced them again, impatiently.

“I have reason to remember Mr. Brice,” he said steadily.  And then, with some vehemence, “What is he doing in Vicksburg?”

Stephen looked at Jennison, who winced.

“The city has surrendered,” said that officer.

They counted on a burst of anger.  Colfax only groaned.

“Then you can afford to be generous,” he said, with a bitter laugh.  “But you haven’t whipped us yet, by a good deal.  Jennison,” he cried, “Jennison, why in hell did you give up?”

“Colfax,” said Stephen, coming forward, “you’re too sick a man to talk.  I’ll look up the General.  It may be that I can have you sent North to-day.”

“You can do as you please,” said Clarence, coldly, “with a—­prisoner.”

The blood rushed to Stephen’s face.  Bowing to the lady, he strode out of the room.  Colonel Jennison, running after him, caught him in the street.

“You’re not offended, Brice?” he said.  “He’s sick—­and God Almighty, he’s proud—­I reckon,” he added with a touch of humility that went straight to Stephen’s heart.  “I reckon that some of us are too derned proud—­But we ain’t cold.”