"He climbed over the bannisters and fell to the brick pavement and died a few minutes after his mother reached his side—"
The girl could make no answer. She had come on a sudden impulse to cheer the lonely leader of her people. Perhaps his need in this dark hour had called her. She thought of Socola's story of his mother's vision and wondered with a sudden pang of self-pity where the man she loved was to-night.
This beautiful child, named in honor of his favorite brother, was the greatest joy of the badgered soul of the Confederate leader.
Suddenly his white face appeared at the head of the stairs. A courier had come from the battlefield with an important dispatch. Grant and Lee were locked in their death grapple in the Wilderness. He would try even in this solemn hour to do his whole duty.
He passed the sympathetic group murmuring a sentence whose pathos brought the tears again to Jennie's eyes.
"Not my will, O Lord, but thine—thine—thine!"
He took the dispatch from the courier's hand and held it open for some time, staring at it with fixed gaze.
He searched the courier's face and asked pathetically:
"Will you tell me, my friend, what is in it—I—I—cannot read—"