“Can he live?” she murmured, in a tone almost inaudible.
“If he is not moved, he may possibly live; but if he is moved his death is certain. The least change in the position of his body, for some hours from this time, will be fatal.”
“Then he shall not have to change his position!” exclaimed the girl.
And, with the pale face still lying upon her bosom, she remained immovable.
Throughout all the long night she did not move or disturb the youth. He had fallen into a deep sleep, and his head still lay upon her bosom.
Who can tell what thoughts came to that brave child as she thus watched over his sleep? The long hours on the lonely battle-field, full of the dead and dying, slowly dragged on. The great dipper wheeled in circle; the moon rose; the dawn came; still the girl, with the groans of the dying around her, held the wounded boy in her arms.{1}
{Footnote 1: Fact.}
Is there a painter in Virginia who desires a great subject? There it is; and it is historical.
When the sun rose, Willie Davenant opened his eyes, and gazed up into her face. Their glances met; their blushing cheeks were near each other; the presence of her, whom he loved so much, seemed to have brought back life to the shattered frame.
An hour afterward he was moved to “Five Forks,” where he was tenderly cared for. The old statesman had forgotten his life-long prejudice, and was the first to do all in his power to save the boy.