"Thanks," said John, "we are even now, Tom. Captain Blake telegraphed your father, Tom—but write, please."
"To whom, John?"
"To Leila—but do not alarm them."
"I will write. In a week or two you must go home. That is the medicine you need most. You will still have some pain, but you will not lose the arm."
"Thank you—but what of the army? I am a bit confused as to time. Parke attacked on the second of April, I think. What day is this?"
"Oh, they got out of Petersburg that night—out of Richmond too. Lee is done for—a day or two will end it."
"Thank God," murmured John, "but I am so sorry for Lee."
"Can't say I am."
"Oh, that blessed morphia!"
"Well, go to sleep—I will see you again shortly. I have other fellows to look after. In a few minutes you will be easy. Draw the fly-nets, orderly."