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e And all the merry round of Christmas joys Can enter as of yore? "Would not some pallid face Look in upon the banquet, calling up Dread shapes of battle in the Christmas cup, And trouble all the place? "How can we hear the mirth While some loved reveller of a year ago Keeps his mute Christmas now beneath the snow, In cold Virginia earth--" Her voice suddenly broke; she laughed, slightly hysterical, the tears glittering in her eyes. "I--c-can't--read it, somehow. . . . Forgive me, everybody, I think I'm--tired----" "Nerves," said West cheerily. "It'll all come right in a moment, Mrs. Paige. Go up and sit by Davis for a while. He's going fast." Curious advice, yet good for her. And Ailsa rose and fled; but a moment later, seated at the side of the dying man, all thought of self vanished in the silent tragedy taking place before her. "Davis?" she whispered. The man opened his sunken eyes as the sleepy steward rose, gave his bedside chair to Ailsa, and replaced the ominous screen. "I am here, Private Davis," she said cheerily, winking away the last tear drop. Then the man sighed deeply, rested his thin cheek against her hand, and lay very, very still. At midnight he died as he lay. She scarcely realised it at first. And when at length she did, she disengaged her chilled hand, closed his eyes, drew the covering over his face, and, stepping from behind the screen, motioned to the steward on duty. Descending the stairs, her pale, pensive glance rested on the locket flashing on its chain over the scarlet heart sewn on her breast. Somehow, at thought of Hallam waiting for her below, she halted on the stairway, one finger twisted in the gold chain. And presently the thought of Hallam reminded her of the trooper and the hot dinner she had promised the poor fellow. Had the cook been kind to him? She hastened downstairs, passed the closed door of the improvised dining-room, traversed the hall to the porch, and, lifting the skirts of her gray garb, sped across the frozen yards to the kitchen. The cook had gone; fire smouldered in the range; and a single candle guttered in its tin cup on the table. Beside it, seated on a stool, elbows planted on both knees, face buried in his spread fingers, sat the lancer, apparently asleep. She cast a rapid glance at the table. The remains of the food satisfied her that he had had his hot dinner. Once more she glanc
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