use
pocket. I wrote it to her the other night. Read it, will you please, and
if it is all right, post it for me when I am gone."

Blinded with my tears I carefully took the letter from his pocket. It
was wet with his heart's blood. I do not now recall its every word, but
in substance, it released her. "My Duchess" was the endearing title at
the top of the page. It declared his deep, abiding love for her: a love
so unselfish and complete as not wanting to ever, either directly or
indirectly, mar her happiness. In life and death her memory would
continue to be the one supreme inspiration of his life. As she
requested, he had burned the letters, retaining but one, stained with a
rose she had once given him.

"Oh my boy! I am proud of you," I cried, when I finished reading. "If it
is all right, Chaplain, please post it when I am gone."

The deathly pallor of his face warned me the end was near. Though not
directly of my faith, he had often remarked his preference for my
ministrations; and with all my soul I helped him make Acts of Faith,
Hope, Charity, and perfect Contrition. Gently his eyes closed, his head
fell forward on my breast, and his brave sweet spirit passed to its
Maker.

Kneeling around, with tears seaming their ashen battle-stained faces,
were his boys. Tenderly they helped me carry his poor torn body to the
shelter of a neighboring ravine. On the hillside we buried him, marking
his grave with the Sign of Him who shall remember the Brave, the Pure,
the Good.

I posted the letter, as he requested, enclosing it all, as it was
blood-stained, in another envelope. I have forgiven, as he would have me
do, the inconsiderate action of the girl who brought such sorrow to the
supreme hour of his sacrifice. Some day, when the wounds of cruel war
are healed, I may forget. And yet, reviewing it all in the light of the
supernatural and the greater reward awaiting him beyond the stars, may
we not believe that an all-wise, ever-merciful Father permitted this
crowning sorrow of his young life that it might be but opportunity,
humbly and prayerfully endured, of a soul-cleansing nature, and add
luster to his reward of the Greater Love through eternal years!

CHAPTER VIII

THIACOURT--AERIAL DARING

"Where are you saying Mass next Sunday Chaplain?"

"In Thiacourt," I replied.

Just the shadow of a doubt flitted across the handsome face of Colonel
Cummings, who nevertheless promptly responded, "All right, I'll b