The song ceased.
There was an age-long silence.
Then out of the darkness from millions of miles away a whisper,
"Kiss me, Little Chap."
CHAPTER LXXXIX
THE LAST POST
The Parson bore the dead man down the hill beneath the stars, Kit still holding the cold hand.
Here yesterday this same limp and lolling figure had chased Knapp with rousing limbs. Now not all the trumpets of his own Brigade could stir his little finger.
Over the greensward the Parson bore his burthen, past the hushed sycamores, into the kitchen.
They entered the Sanctuary.