zzle was less than two
feet from his face and in the flash he saw Ned's look of horror, both
brothers recognizing each other in the same instant.

"John--my God, it's you!"

"Yes--yes--and it's you--God have mercy if I've killed you!"

In a moment the older brother had caught Ned's sinking body and lowered
it gently on the leaves.

"It's all right, John, old man," he gasped. "If I had to die it's just
as well by your hand. It's war--it's hell--all hell--anyhow--what's the
difference----"

"But you mustn't die, Boy!" John whispered fiercely. "You mustn't, I
tell you!"

"I didn't want to die," Ned sighed. "Life
was--just--becoming--real--beautiful--wonderful----"

He stopped and drew a deep breath.

John bent lower and Ned's arm slipped toward his neck and his fingers
touched the warm blood soaking his clothes.

"I'm--afraid--I--got--you,--too,--John----"

"No, I'm all right--brace up, Boy. Pull that devil will of yours
together--we've both got it--and live!"

The younger man's head had sunk on his brother's blood-stained breast.

"Now, look here, Ned, old man--this'll never do--don't--don't--give up!"

The answer came faint and low:

"Tell--Betty--when--you--see--her--that--with--my--last--breath--I--spoke
--her--name--her--face--lights--the--dark--way----"

"You're going, Ned?"

"Yes----"

"Say you forgive me!"

"There's--nothing--to--forgive--it's--all--right--John--good-bye----"

The voice stopped. The battle had ceased. The woods were still. The
older brother could feel the slow rising and falling of the strong young
chest as if the muscles in the glory of their perfect life refused to
hear the call of Death.

He bent in the darkness and kissed the trembling lips and they, too,
were still. He drew himself against the trunk of a tree and through the
beautiful summer night held the body of his dead brother in his arms.

His fevered eyes were opened at last and he saw war as it is for the
first time. It had meant nothing before this reckoning of the dead and
wounded after battle--sixty thousand men from the Rapidan to Cold Harbor
in thirty days--ten thousand five hundred in the futile dash against
Petersburg--four thousand in the crater--five thousand five hundred more
now on this torn, twisted railroad, and all a failure--not an inch of
ground gained.

These torn and mangled bundles of red rags he had watched the men dump
into trenches and cover with dirt had meant nothing real. They were o