smiling over the guns--"

"Falligant says the men are nigh dead, officers nodding in their
saddles, giving orders in their sleep. Falligant says--"

Margaret touched one of the group upon the arm. He swung round in the
hall that was darkening toward sunset and swept off his hat. "Do you
think, sir, that there will be fighting to-night?"

"I think not, madam. There may be skirmishes of course--our men may cut
off parties of the enemy. But there will be no general battle. It is
agreed that General Banks will get across the Potomac. The troops will
bivouac this side of Martinsburg."

The wounded in the house slept or did not sleep. The young widow sat
beside the dead officer. She would not be drawn away--said that she was
quite comfortable, not unhappy, there was so much happiness to remember.
Hannah found a nook for the little girl and put her to bed. The officers
went away. There were a thousand things to do, and, also, they must
snatch some sleep, or the brain would reel. The surgeon, hollow-eyed,
grey with fatigue, dropping for sleep, spoke at the open front door to
the elderly lady of the house and to Margaret Cleave. "Lieutenant Waller
will die, I am afraid, though always while there is life there is hope.
No, there is nothing--I have given Mrs. Cleave directions, and his boy
is a good nurse. I'll come back myself about midnight. That Louisiana
youngster is all right. You might get two men and move him from that
room. No; the other won't lose the foot. He, too, might be moved, if you
can manage it. I'll be back--"

"I wish you might sleep yourself, doctor."

"Shouldn't mind it. I don't expect you women do much sleeping either.
Got to do without like coffee for a while. Funny world, funny life,
funny death, funny universe. Could give whoever made it a few points
myself. Excuse me, ladies, I hardly know what I am saying. Yes, thank
you, I see the step. I'll come back about midnight."

The old yards up and down the old street were much trampled, shrubbery
broken, fences down, the street thick dust, and still strewn with
accoutrements that had been thrown away, with here and there a broken
wagon. Street and pavement, there was passing and repassing--the life of
the rear of an army, and the faring to and fro on many errands of the
people of the relieved town. There were the hospitals and there were the
wounded in private houses. There were the dead, and all the burials for
the morrow--the negroes digging in the ol