"Whatever it is you ask, John Logan, we will do it—we will do it."
The girl says this with a firmness that convinces him that it will be done.
"We will do it! we will do it! so help me, we will do it!" blubbers Stumps.
"What is it, John Logan, we can do?"
"I will not fly from here." He looks down tenderly into their faces. Then he lifts his face. It is dark and terrible, and his lips are set with resolution. "I will die here. It may be to-night, it may be to-morrow. It may be as I turn to go out at that door they will send their bullets through my heart; it may be while I kneel in the snow at my mother's grave. But, sooner or later, it will come—it will come!"
"But please, John Logan, what is it we can do?"
Her voice is tremulous, and her eyes stream with tears.
"Carrie, I am a man—a strong man—and ought not to ask anything of a helpless girl. But I have no other friend. I have had no friends. All the days of my life have been dark and lonely. And now I am about to die, Carrie, I want you to see that I am buried by my mother yonder. I am so weary, and I could rest there. And then she, poor broken-hearted mother, she might not be so lonesome then. Do you promise?"
"I do promise!" and the boy echoes this scarcely audible but determined answer.
"Thank you—thank you! And now good night. I must be going, lest I draw suspicion on you. Good night, good night; God bless you, Carrie!"