"But Robert?"
"He is dead."
The woman sank into a chair, shuddering.
"When? How? Did he get my letter?"
"Yes. He was killed at the capture of a little hill in North Carolina on the day he received your letter. Here it is."
"Did he say anything before——"
"There is a message written in it."
"Give it me."
Striking a light at the gas-bracket, Broadhead handed her the letter. She read it through dry-eyed while he watched her. She had been a pretty, sweet, dainty, attractive-looking little woman, now she was a haggard, broken wreck.
"And he was killed by the enemy?" she asked at last.