d supported the head and upper body in a half-sitting position. Though
the eyes had remained closed before, they opened now, to confront
Crawford--poor old, dim, lack-lustre eyes, that yet seemed to have one
burning spark in the centre.

"You say that you are a Union soldier. Will you swear it?" he asked, in
the same low, solemn tones.

"I do solemnly swear, in the presence of Almighty God," said John
Crawford, lifting his hand to heaven, remembering some portions of the
oath so commonly administered in our courts of justice, and adding on
some words not commonly used in the same connection, "that I am a true
and loyal soldier in the service of the United States, and the enemy of
all rebels and traitors! Amen!"

"Thank God!" said the old man, solemnly. "If I cannot die with the old
flag over me, I can at least have the company of those who uphold it!
Give me your hand. What!" as the young soldier came closer. "You are
wounded. You have been in the battle to-day. You are defeated and a
fugitive?"

"No!" said the Zouave, with a world of triumph in his tone, and giving
his uninjured hand at the same time. "I am wounded, but McClellan and
Fitz-John Porter have to-day flogged the rebels out of their boots at
Malvern Hill, and the Union army is safe!'

"Thank God! oh, thank God!" said the old man, reverently. "Marion, lay
me back, I am faint." He did not seem to be aware that Webster was
assisting to hold him up, or that any one was in the place except
Crawford and his granddaughter. His request was obeyed, and he was laid
down again on the pallet; but the excitement of the last few minutes had
perceptibly weakened him, and he was evidently failing fast. "Marion, it
hurts me to talk--a little. Tell the gentleman, for he is a gentleman, I
know--who we are and how we came to be here."

"This is my grandfather," the young girl said, still on her knees by the
pallet, and evidencing in her calm and childlike tone no surprise at the
request, and no agitation in relating what must have pained her so
terribly under the circumstances. "His name is Chester Hobart. We belong
to a good family, and they say that we are related to the English Earls
of Buckinghamshire. My father was Charles Hampden Hobart. He was an
officer in the navy, and was drowned when I was quite a little girl."
Crawford did not notice, then, but remembered afterwards, that in this
strange relation she said nothing of another parent who seemed likewise
to be de