"I trust," said he, "that what Captain Edney and myself thought proper to do will meet your approval. After the battle, the wife of Captain Manly sent a request to have his body forwarded to her by a flag of truce. We consulted Frank, who told us to do as we pleased about it. Accordingly, we obtained permission to grant her request, and the body of her husband was sent to her."
There was for a moment a look, as of one who felt bitter wrong, on Mrs. Manly's face; but it passed.
"You did well, Mr. Egglestone. To her who had got the soul belonged the body also. May peace go with it to her desolated home!"
"Mother!" whispered Frank, gazing still at the miniature, "tell me! am I right? do I know now why it was the dear old man thought so much of me?"
"If you have not guessed, my child. I will tell you. Years ago, when I was the little girl you see there, he was good enough to think I was good enough to marry him. That is all."
Frank said no more, but laid the picture on his heart,—for it was his, and the dearest part of the dear old man's legacy.
CONCLUSION.
After a long delay Captain Edney came; apologizing for not appearing to welcome his drummer boy's mother and his old schoolmistress before. His excuse was valid: one of his men, S. Tucket by name, had got into a scrape by running off with one of Uncle Sam's carts, and he had been to help him out of it.
He found a new light shining in the hospital—the light of woman's influence; the light of life to Frank and his friend Atwater, nor to them only, but to all upon whom it shone.