hed toward her, their clothes wet and streaked with red
clay. Diana explained their long absence gravely. July had not been able
to restrain his curiosity about the dead soldier, and when he finally
found his wife, where she was searching for "miss," they were both so
far up the mountain that he announced his intention of going to "find
the pore fellow anyway," and that she might go with him or return
homeward as she pleased.

"Sence he would go, it was better fo' me to go too, miss," said the
black wife, glancing at her husband with some severity. "An' while we
was about it, we jess buried him."

The sternly honest principles of Diana countenanced no rifling of
pockets, no thefts of clothing; she would not trust July alone with the
dead man. Who knew what temptation there might be in the shape of a
pocket-knife? Without putting her fears into words, however--for she
always carefully guarded her husband's dignity--she accompanied him,
stood by while he made his examination, and then waited alone in the
ravine while he went to a farm-house a mile or two distant and returned
with two other blacks, who assisted in digging the grave. The rain
pattered down upon the leaves overhead, and at last reached her and the
dead, whose face she had reverently covered with her clean white apron.
When all was ready, they carefully lowered the body to its last
resting-place, first lining the hollow with fresh green leaves,
according to the rude unconscious poetry which the negroes, left to
themselves, often display. Diana had then kneeled down and "offered a
powerfu' prayer," so July said. Then, having made a "firs'-rate moun'
ober him," they had come away, leaving him to his long repose.

Half an hour later the Redds returned also. By contrast with the
preceding stillness, the little house seemed full to overflowing. Anne
busied herself in household tasks, and let the others wait upon the
patient. But she did not deny herself the pleasure of looking at him
from the other side of the room now and then, and she smiled brightly
whenever his eyes met hers and gave back her mute salutation.

Heathcote was so much better that only July was to watch that night;
Diana was to enjoy an unbroken night's rest, with a pillow and a blanket
upon the hay in the barn. July went out to arrange this bed for his
wife, and then, as the patient was for the moment left alone, Anne stole
down from her loft to keep her promise.

"Good-night," she murmured,