ey them--no use trying to find his legs. He
could not get up without his legs--he laughed weakly at the
thought; then, drowsy, indifferent, decided that they had been shot
away, but could not remember when; and it bothered him a good deal.

Other things bothered him; he was convinced that his mother was in
the room. At intervals he was aware of Hallam's handsome face, cut
out like a paper picture from _Harper's Weekly_ and pasted flat on
the tent wall. Also there were too many fire zouaves around his
bed--if it was a bed, this vague vibrating hammock he occupied. It
was much more like a hollow nook inside a gigantic pendulum which
swung eternally to and fro until it swung him into
senselessness--or aroused him with fierce struggles to escape.
But his mother's slender hand sometimes arrested the maddening
motion, or--and this was curiously restful--she cleverly
transferred him to a cradle, which she rocked, leaning close over
him. Only she kept him wrapped up too warmly.

And after a long while there came a day when his face became
cooler, and his skin grew wet with sweat; and on that day he partly
unclosed his eyes and saw Colonel Arran sitting beside him.

Surprised, he attempted to sit up, but not a muscle of his body
obeyed him, and he lay there stupid, inert, hollow eyes fixed
meaninglessly on his superior, who spoke cautiously.

"Berkley, do you know me?"

His lips twitched a voiceless affirmative.

Colonel Arran said: "You are going to get well, now. . . . Get
well quickly, because--the regiment misses you. . . . What is it
you desire to say? Make the effort if you wish."

Berkley's sunken eyes remained focussed on space; he was trying to
consider. Then they turned painfully toward Colonel Arran again.

"Ailsa Paige?" he whispered.

The other said quietly: "She is at the base hospital near Azalea.
I have seen her. She is well. . . . I did not tell her you were
ill. She could not have left anyway. . . . Matters are not going
well with the army, Berkley."

"Whipped?" His lips barely formed the question.

Colonel Arran's careworn features flushed.

"The army has been withdrawing from the Peninsula. It is the
commander-in-chief who has been defeated--not the Army of the
Potomac."

"Back?"

"Yes, certainly we shall go back. This rebellion seems to be
taking more time to extinguish than the people and the national
authorities supposed it would require. But no man must doubt our
ultim