ELSIE DINSMORE Complete Series: 28 Books in One Edition. Martha Finley

said Harry, "we may bring upon ourselves what Allison is enduring, or instant death; but I for one would prefer the latter to the slow torture of starvation."

      "If we are ready," said Harold, in low, solemn tones. "It is appointed to men once to die, and after that the judgment."

      "And what should you say was the needful preparation?" queried another, half-mockingly. "'Repent ye and believe the gospel.' 'Let the wicked forsake his way and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him return unto the Lord and He will have mercy upon him; and to our God, for He will abundantly pardon.' 'Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.'"

      Silence fell on the little group. Duncan's eyes wandered over the field, over the thousands of brave men herded together there like cattle, with none of the comforts, few of the necessaries of life—over the living, the dying, the dead; taking in the whole aggregate of suffering with one sweeping glance. His eyes filled; his whole soul was moved with compassion, while he half forgot that he himself was one of them.

      How much were the consolations of God needed here! how few, comparatively, possessed them. But some there were who did, and were trying to impart them to others. Should he stay and share in this good work? Perhaps he ought; he almost thought so for a moment; but he remembered his country's need; he had enlisted for the war; he must return to active service, if he could.

      Then his eye fell upon Harold. Here was a noble life to be saved; a life that would inevitably be lost to friends, relatives, country, by but a few weeks' longer sojourn in this horrible place. Duncan's determination was taken: with the help of God the morning light should find them both free and far on their way towards the Union lines.

      "We'll try it, comrades, to-night," he said aloud.

      "So we will," they answered with determination.

      A man came staggering towards them, gesticulating wildly and swearing horrible oaths.

      "He is crazed with hunger, poor fellow," remarked Harold.

      Duncan was gazing steadily at the man who had now sunk panting upon the ground, exhausted by his own violence. Evidently he had once possessed more than an ordinary share of physical beauty, but vice and evil passions had set their stamp upon his features, and famine had done its ghastly work; he was but a wreck of his former self.

      "Where have I seen that face?" murmured Harry, unconsciously thinking aloud.

      "In the rogues' gallery, perhaps. Tom Jackson is his name, or one of his names; for he has several aliases, I'm told," remarked some one standing near.

      "Yes, he's the very man!" exclaimed Harry. "I have studied his photograph and recognize him fully, in spite of famine's ravages. The wretch! he deserves all he suffers: and yet I pity him."

      "What! the would-be assassin of Viamede?" and Harold started to his feet, the hot blood dyeing his thin cheeks.

      "The same. You feel like lynching him on the spot; and no wonder. But refrain; they would bid you, and he is already suffering a worse fate than any you could mete out to him."

      "God forgive me!" groaned Harold, dropping down again and hiding his face in his hands, "I believe there was murder in my heart."

      "The story? what was it?" asked Jones. "Tell it, Duncan; anything to help us to a moment's forgetfulness."

      The others joined in the request, and Duncan gave the full particulars of the several attempts Jackson had made upon the lives of Mr. Travilla and Elsie.

      Allison never once lifted his face during the recital, but the rest listened with keen interest.

      "The fellow richly deserves lynching," was the unanimous verdict, "but, as you say, is already suffering a far worse fate."

      "And yet no worse than that of thousands of innocent men," remarked Jones bitterly. "Where's the justice of it?"

      "Do you expect even-handed justice here?" inquired another.

      "Perhaps he may be no worse in the sight of God, than some of the rest of us," said Harold, in low, grave tones; "we do not know what evil influences may have surrounded him from his very birth, or whether, exposed to the same, we would have turned out any better."

      "I'm perishing with thirst," said Jones, "and must try pushing through that crowd about the spring."

      He wandered off and the group scattered, leaving Harold and Duncan alone together.

      The two had a long talk: of home, common friends and acquaintance; of the war, what this or that Federal force was probably now attempting; what future movements were likely to be made, and how the contest would end; neither doubting the final triumph of the government.

      "And that triumph can't be very far off either," concluded Harry. "I think the struggle will be over before this time next year, and I hope you and I may have a hand in the winding up."

      "Perhaps you may," Allison rejoined a little sadly; "but I, I fear, have struck my last blow for my native land."

      "You are not strong now, but good nursing may do wonders for you," answered Harry cheerily. "Once within the Union lines, and you will feel like another man."

      "Ah, but how to get me there? that's the tug of war," said Harold, but with a smile and in tones more hopeful than his words. "Duncan, you are a Christian?"

      "Yes, Allison; Jesus Christ is the Captain of my salvation; in whom I trust, and in whose service I desire to live and die."

      "Then are we brothers indeed!" and with the words their right hands joined in a more cordial grasp than before.

      The sun was nearing the western horizon when at length Harold was left alone. He bowed his head upon his knees in thought and prayer, remaining thus for many minutes, striving for a spirit of forgiveness and compassion towards the coward wretch who would have slain one dearer to him than life.

      At last, as the shadows of evening were gathering over the place, he lifted a pale, patient face; and rising, made his way slowly and with difficulty towards the spot where Jackson lay prostrate on the ground, groaning and crying like a child.

      Sitting down beside the miserable creature, he spoke to him in gentle, soothing tones. "You have been here a long time?"

      "The longest year that ever I lived! but it won't last much longer," and he uttered a fearful oath.

      "Are you expecting to be exchanged?"

      "Exchanged! no. What do those fellows at Washington care about our lives? They'll delay and delay till we're all starved to death, like hundreds and thousands, before us;" and again he concluded with a volley of oaths and curses, bestowed indiscriminately upon the President and Congress, Jeff Davis, Wirtz, and the guard.

      Harold was shocked at his profanity. "Man," said he solemnly, "do you know that you are on the brink of the grave? and must soon appear at the bar of Him whose holy name you are taking in vain?"

      "Curse you!" he cried, lifting his head for a moment, then dropping it again on the ground; "take your cant to some other market, I don't believe in a God, or heaven or hell: and the sooner I die the better; for I'll be out of my misery."

      "No; that is a fatal delusion, and unless you turn and repent, and believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, death can only plunge you into deeper misery. You have only a little while! Oh, I beseech you, don't cast away your last chance to secure pardon, peace and eternal life!"

      "You're 'casting your pearls before swine,'" returned the man, sneeringly. "Not to say that I'm a hog exactly, but I've not a bit more of a soul than if I was. Your name's Allison, isn't it?"

      "It is."

      "D'ye know anybody named Dinsmore? or Travilla?"

      "Yes; and I know who you are, Jackson, and of your crimes against them. In the sight of God you are a murderer."

      "You tell me to repent. I've repented many a time that I didn't take better aim and blow his brains out; yes, and hers too. I hoped I had, till I saw the account in the papers."