"Sure! Heaven, yes! Why, Abbot? Do you—do you know?"
"She seems happy, Hollins. She is to be married in the spring; I don't know just when."
"Draws forth her precious picture and lays it at a rival's feet."
There is another moment of intense silence in the little room. Outside the muffled tramp of the night patrols and the gruff challenge of sentries fall faintly on the ear. Within there is only the quick breathing of the sinking man. There is a long, long look from the dying eyes; a slow movement towards the well-nigh pulseless heart. Then comes the sound of heavy feet upon the stair, and presently the uncouth form of Rix is at the threshold, a piteous look in his haggard face. Abbot raises a hand in warning, and glances quickly from the prisoner at the door to the frame whence fast is ebbing the imprisoned soul. The hand that had faintly clasped his is slowly creeping up to the broad and brawny chest, so feeble now. Far across the rippling waters of the Rappahannock the notes of a bugle, prolonged and distant, soft and solemn, float upon the still night air. 'Tis the soldiers' signal "Lights Out!"—the soldiers' rude yet never-forgotten lullaby. An instant gleam as of recognition hovers in the glazing eyes. Then follow a few faint gasps; then—one last gesture as the arm falls limp and nerveless; but it draws forth her precious picture and lays it at a rival's feet.