.

.

And who might this girl be who came now to her with tales of Berkley's goodness, kindness--shy stories of the excellence of the man who had killed in her the joy of living--had nigh killed more than that?
What did this strange, dark-eyed, dark-haired girl know about his goodness ?--a girl of whom she had never even heard until she saw her in Dr.Benton's office! And all the while she stood looking at the closed door, thinking, thinking.
They were off duty that night, but Letty was going back to a New Hampshire boy who was not destined to live very long, and whose father was on the way from Plymouth to see his eldest son--his eldest son who had never fought a battle, had never seen one, had never even fired his musket, but who lay dying in the nineteenth year of his age, colour corporal, loved of his guard and regiment.
"Baily asked for me," she said simply.

"I can get some sleep sitting up, I think." She smiled.

"I'm happier and--better for seeing my trooper.