"Do you think the New York papers would have any names?" asked Lizzie.
"We can try," said Bruce. And he bought a "Herald," and unfolded it. "Yes, there is a list," he continued, some time after he had opened out the sheet. "What's your friend's name?" he asked, from behind the paper.
"Ford,—John Ford, second lieutenant," said Lizzie.
There was a long pause.
At last Bruce lowered the sheet, and showed a face in which Lizzie's pallor seemed faintly reflected.
"There is such a name among the wounded," he said; and, folding the paper down, he held it out, and gently crossed to the seat beside her.
Lizzie took the paper, and held it close to her eyes. But Bruce could not help seeing that her temples had turned from white to crimson.
"Do you see it?" he asked; "I sincerely hope it's nothing very bad."
"Severely," whispered Lizzie.
"Yes, but that proves nothing. Those things are most unreliable. Do hope for the best."