y, for the charges were
wildly heroic; but the guns were never disabled, and the loss of the
grey was the heaviest. Brigade by brigade, the grey faced the storm and
were beaten back, only again to reel forward upon the slope where Death
stood and swung his scythe. The last light dwelt on their colours, on
the deep red of their battle-flags; then the western sky became no
warmer than the eastern. The stars were out in troops; the battle
stopped.

D. H. Hill, an iron fighter with a mania for personal valour, standing
where he had been standing for an hour, in a pleasantly exposed spot,
clapped on his hat and beckoned for his horse. The ground about him
showed furrowed as for planting, and a neighbouring oak tree was so
riddled with bullets that the weight of a man might have sent it
crashing down. D. H. Hill, drawing long breath, spoke half to his staff,
half to the stars: "Give me Federal artillery and Confederate infantry,
and I'd whip the world!"

CHAPTER XXXVII

A WOMAN

Allan Gold, lying in a corner of the Stonewall Hospital, turned his
head toward the high window. It showed him little, merely a long strip
of blue sky above housetops. The window was open, and the noises of the
street came in. He knew them, checked them off in his mind. He was doing
well. A body, superbly healthful, might stand out boldly against a
minie ball or two, just as calm nerves, courage and serene judgement
were of service in a war hospital such as this. If he was restless now,
it was because he was wondering about Christianna. It was an hour past
her time for coming.

The ward was fearfully crowded. This, however, was the end by the stair,
and he had a little cut-off place to himself. Many in the ward yet lay
on the floor, on a blanket as he had done that first morning. In the
afternoon of that day a wide bench had been brought into his corner, a
thin flock mattress laid upon it, and he himself lifted from the floor.
He had protested that others needed a bed much more, that he was used to
lying on the earth--but Christianna had been firm. He wondered why she
did not come.

Chickahominy, Gaines's Mill, Garnett's and Golding's farms, Peach
Orchard, Savage Station, White Oak Swamp, Frayser's Farm, Malvern
Hill--dire echoes of the Seven Days' fighting had thronged into this
hospital as into all others, as into the houses of citizens and the
public buildings and the streets! All manner of wounded soldiers told
the story--ever so