"And now occurred one of those conflicts which make or mar the fortunes of a nation: one of those terrible multi-personal combats which mark a century's history, and strike the ages dumb with awe; one of those terrific scenes in the world's great drama, that mark historic epochs, and enshrine men's names in fiery letters upon the scrolls of Fame.
"The charge and the action were short, sharp, swift, desperate; but at its close the
"'Flag of the Planet gems,
With saphire-circled diadems,'
floated proudly over the scene of Treason's battle lost—a Nation's battle won!
"Day closes again; and the wounded hero in an ambulance was borne fainting—almost dying, from the field. 'Colonel Clark, can I do anything for you?' said one of the fighting generals to the stricken man—a bullet had gone through him. 'You are a noble fellow, and I speak for myself, your comrades in arms, and for our country. Can I—can they, can we, can she—do anything for you, in this sad hour of your destiny? If so, I beg you to speak.'
"'Alas! no, my friend,' replied he, reviving, only to swoon again. A little cold water on his temples partially dissipated the coma, but not all the fog from his perceptions; for his general's words, 'Can she,' considerably obfuscated his intellect, and he thought: 'He means Betsey—that's the only she I know of.' And then he strengthened up for a last dying effort; strove to collect his thoughts, partly succeeded, and said: 'Nothing more, dear general. Yes. No. I'm—dy—ing—going—home. Tell Betsey—dear Betsey—I did not—find her out till—it was—too—late. Tell her that I loved—her from my—soul—at last. Tell her—that'——
"She can't stand the pressure any longer—globe or no globe, hermit or no hermit—not another minute. You Bet! It's a pretty how de do, me a settin' here, and poor Tom laying there, killed a'most to death!' shrieked the fair girl in the grotto of the hermit of the silver girdle, waked up beyond endurance by the skillful magic of the weird recluse. And repeating the Californian, 'You Bet!' with vehement emphasis on the last word, she sprung to her feet, in spite of the warnings of the man who dealt in magic crystal globes in the precincts of a forest wild—upsetting table, tripod, stool and hermit, in her eagerness to reach Tom's side and give him wifely ministry.
"What luck she might have had in bridging Phantom River I know not, having omitted to remain long enough for inquiry, not having had time to thus devote; but this I do know, namely, that she nearly kicked the veritable Mr. Thomas W. Clark completely out of bed—the bed at whose foot was a window, whose upper sash was down—the identical window through which came all the 'funny things' of this most veracious history, which, of course, is all true. Betsey woke from excitement, Tom from being kicked, and both had finished their double dreams.
"'What'n thunder's up now, Bet—no, Lizzie, I mean?' said he, checking the less respectful utterance, and modulating his voice to what he doubtless intended to be a 'velvet-dulcet cadence,' but which wouldn't pass for that in Italian opera. 'Not nothing, Tommy, dear.' 'Not nothing, Lizzie?' 'Not nothing.' 'That ain't grammar, sweet.' 'I was paragorically speaking, my turkle dove! Only I've been having two very funny dreams.' 'You! Two dreams? That is queer!' 'You Bet!' 'What about, Lizzie?' 'Oh, all about how we didn't love each other as we ought to, husband.' 'And, dorg on my buttons, wife, if I haven't had two just such dreams myself—all about a precipice, and a pile—Oh, wasn't it a pile, though?' 'You Bet!' 'And my dreams were all about how I ought to love you, and didn't—and then, again, I did.' 'That's a dear!' 'You Bet!' 'Let's love each other this time out, will you?' 'I will; will you?' 'You Bet!' 'Let's profit by our dreams. I mean to; won't you?' 'I'll try!' 'I'll try!' 'We'll both try!' 'You Bet!' And they tried to forgive and forget.
"Will you do the same?" asked the Rosicrucian of the "Angular Character," who had told his own story in disguise. The latter saw that his secret was out; yet his heart was touched, for, as a great tear-drop rolled down his cheek, he said, with smothered breath, the holy words—"I'll try!" "Amen!" said the Rosicrucian. "Amen!" said we all; and then, turning to his auditors again, the story-teller said: "Friends, go thou and do likewise; and so long as you live, I charge you never to forget the Rosicrucian nor his story; nor It, the Shadow; nor Hesperina, the Light; nor Otanethi, the Genius of the Hour; nor the silver-girdled Hermit, and his Crystal Globe in a forest wild; nor, above all, the little window at the foot of the bed, whose upper sash was down."