died than to have lived. I am glad I do not have to live."

He soon lapsed again into delirium, and seemed to be living over a second
time a meeting with some woman.

"Dear Pop," he said, "we are sent like sacrifices to the altar. They have
given me a handful of men and expect me to conquer whole nations. I know
that I shall never see you more. Good-by, Pop, and God bless you."

Orme turned away for a moment to master his emotion.

"'T was his last night in London," he said when he could speak. "He was
to set out on the morrow, and he asked Colonel Burton and myself to go
with him to visit a very dear protegee of his, George Anne Bellamy, the
actress, to whom, I think, he has left all his property. He used to her
almost the same words he has just repeated."

"So he had doubts of his success," said Washington musingly. "Well, he
was a brave man, for he never permitted them to be seen."

He was fast growing weaker. His voice faltered and failed, and he lay
without movement in his litter, continuing so until eight o'clock in the
evening. We had halted for the night, and had gathered about his couch,
watching him as his breathing grew slowly fainter. At last, when we
thought him all but gone, he opened his eyes, and seeing the ring of
anxious faces about him, smiled up at them.

"It is the end," he said quietly. "You will better know how to deal with
them next time;" and turning his head to one side, he closed his eyes.

We buried him at daybreak. The grave was dug in the middle of the road,
so that the wagons passing over it might efface all trace of its
existence and preserve it inviolate from the hands of the Indians. Our
chaplain, Mr. Hughes, had been severely wounded, so it was Colonel
Washington who read the burial service. I shall not soon forget that
scene,--the open grave in the narrow roadway, the rude coffin draped with
a flag, the martial figure within in full uniform, his hands crossed over
the sword on his breast, the riderless charger neighing for its master,
and the gray light of the morning over it all. The burial service has
never sounded more impressively in my ears than it did as read that
morning, in Colonel Washington's strong, melodious voice, to that little
group of listening men, in the midst of the wide, unbroken, whispering
forest. How often have I heard those words of hope and trust in God's
promise to His children, and under what varying circumstances!

We lowered him into the grave, an