Joyce did so, her tears falling like rain. For some time she held her father’s hand, and then his mind began to wander. It was no longer Joyce’s hand he held, but the hand of her mother, who had lain in the grave for so many years. Once he opened his eyes, and seeing the face of Joyce bending over him, murmured, “Kiss me, Mary.”
Brushing aside her tears, Joyce kissed him, not once, but again and again.
He smiled, closed his eyes—and then fell asleep.
A year has passed since the death of Mr. Crawford. Calhoun has come to claim his beautiful bride. He is making his last raid; but this time no enemy glowers upon him. Instead, flowers are scattered in his path; glad bells are ringing a joyful welcome. He is fully aware that the war has left many bitter memories; yet when the words are spoken which link his life to Joyce’s forever and forever (for true love ends not in the grave), he clasps her to his heart, and thanks God that Morgan made his raid into Ohio.
THE END.
[pg 335] PRINTED BY R. R. DONNELLEY
AND SONS COMPANY, AT THE
LAKESIDE PRESS, CHICAGO, ILL.