“Most thankfully,” said Ned, with a gratitude in his voice and accent far beyond what his words expressed.
“He is a handsome boy,” said Jackson, looking again at the still unconscious Tom. “Keep the other prisoners under strict guard, lieutenant; but treat this gentleman who is under parole with all possible respect. Hark! what is that? Midnight!”
And, as he paused to listen, the distant sound of bells rang faintly out upon the air. Midnight; and for an instant utter stillness upon air and earth and water. And then Tom groaned painfully; and, as Ned bent anxiously over him, Stonewall Jackson said:—
“I shall see you in the morning, Colonel.” And Ned thanked him once again; and the noise of the horses’ hoofs came more and more faintly, and at last died away entirely.
Then Ned knelt down beside Tom, and looked steadily at him. Tom half opened his eyes, and then closed them again with a weary moan that went to Ned’s very heart. “Don’t you know me, Tom?” he said.
“I shall see my mother to-morrow,” said Tom, “after waiting two years. I couldn’t go before,—I couldn’t leave Ned when he was sick.”
Ned hid his face in his hands, and groaned. Tom closed his eyes again, and seemed to pass into a fitful slumber. The men had built a great fire a little way apart; and its gleams fell upon Tom’s face, just as the firelight had done in the Professor’s room, five years before, when Ned first met him. How well he remembered that night! He laid his hand on Tom’s hot brow, and smoothed back his tangled hair. How lovely his face was in this fitful, ruddy glow! How much he had sacrificed for Ned, and now Ned had ruined him! It was dreadful to Ned. He threw himself on the grass beside Tom, and put his face on Tom’s shoulder.
“I am going to cut recitation to-day,” muttered Tom. “Hang that old Ned! He is always vexed about something or other. I’m going to enlist, mother; I must, you see,—oh, I must, I must, I must! Good-by!”
“Oh, don’t, Tom!” groaned Ned.