wall, and entered over the fragments of the door,
which had been shivered by a shell. With tottering steps he passed along
the hall and up the little stairway, as one who had been familiar with
the place. Before the door of the aged lady's chamber he paused a moment
and listened; all was still there, although the terrible tumult of the
battle was sounding all around. He entered; he advanced to the
bed-side; the dying woman was murmuring a prayer. A random shot had torn
the shrivelled flesh upon her bosom and the white counterpane was
stained with blood. She did not see him--her thoughts were away from
earth, she was already seeking communion with the spirits of the blest.
The soldier knelt by that strange death-bed and leaned his pale brow
upon the pillow.

"Mother!"

How strangely the word sounded amid the shouts of combatants and the din
of war. It was like a good angel's voice drowning the discords of hell.

"Mother!"

She heard not the cannon's roar, but that one word, scarce louder than
the murmur of a dreaming infant, reached her ear. The palsied head was
turned upon the pillow and the light of life returned to her glazing
eyes.

"Who speaks?" she gasped, while her thin hands were tremulously clasped
together with emotion.

"'Tis I, mother. Philip, your son."

"Philip, my son!" and the nerveless form, that had scarce moved for
years, was raised upon the bed by the last yearning effort of a mother's
love.

"Is it you, Philip, is it you, indeed? I can scarce see your form, but
surely I have heard the voice of my boy;--my long absent boy. Oh!
Philip! why have I not heard it oftener to comfort my old age?"

"I am dying, mother. I have been a bad son and a guilty man. But I am
dying, mother. Oh! I am punished for my sin! The avenging bullet struck
me down at the gate of the home I had deserted--the home I have made
desolate to you. Mother, I have crawled here to die."

"To die! O God! your hand is cold--or is it but the chill of death upon
my own? Oh! I had thought to have said farewell to earth forever, but
yet let me linger but a little while, O Lord! if but to bless my son."
She sank exhausted upon the pillow, but yet clasped the gory fingers of
the dying man.

"Philip, are you there? Let me hear your voice. I hear strange murmurs
afar off; but not the voice of my son. Are you there, Philip, are you
there?"

Philip Searle was crouching lower and lower by the bed-side, and his
forehead, upon which th