“‘I was ever a poor unlucky dog, Capoul; but, my friend, when I am dead look in my saddle-roll, hanging there, and the papers you find please deliver to the proper address, and—and—Capoul, say to—to Miss Mabel I left a farewell for her.’
“‘Gentlemen, I am ready.’
“‘Curses on your Imperial humanity! Will you slay a man as though he were a hound?’ cried Capoul, angrily turning towards the officer, for it cut him to the heart to thus part with his friend.
“‘I yield to the fortunes of war, Capoul, and these gentlemen but do their duty.’
“‘Come, let it be over,’ replied Garnet, and shaking the hand of his friend warmly he was marched away.
“Half distracted with grief, Capoul Monteith paced his tent, his thoughts whirling, and his brain on fire, as he gazed at the stool where a short while before poor Garnet had sat.
“An hour passed, and the American officer of the Imperial army stood before him.
“‘Well?’ said Capoul, hardly daring to ask the question.
“‘He is dead.’
“‘God have mercy upon him,’ groaned the sorrowing friend.