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The conclusion to which we came on the perusal of this document was, that the ladies had superintended the style and spelling of my poor Hal's letter, but that the postscript was added without their knowledge. And I am afraid we argued that the Virginian Squire was under female domination as Hercules, Samson, and fortes multi had been before him.
"I will see to him, sir knight," the surgeon said. "I have bandaged your comrade's injuries, and methinks that he will soon come round." Then he examined Hal's wounds. "He will do," he said. "Assuredly there are none of them that are mortal; 'tis but loss of blood that ails him.
"It certainly does," was Hal's reply. The object of the boys' conversation was a long armored train, which stood on a siding. It was late in the afternoon, and the two lads, after having taken a long rest, and being relieved from active duty by the express command of General French, had strolled up to the temporary siding, where the huge engine now stood puffing and snorting.
The big, breezy, working world, where the individual is taken on his or her merits apart from birth, or standing, or occupation, was quite unknown to her; and that Hal's original, attractive personality might open doors for ever shut to her mediocre, pretty young-ladyhood, would never enter her mind.
He knew this paper; an evening journal selling for a cent, and read by working-men. Persons of culture who referred to it disposed of it with the adjective "yellow." "I know," said MacKellar, noting Hal's tone. "But it's the only paper that will publish your story anyway." "Where is this Keating?" "He's been up at the mine. It's too bad you didn't meet him." "Can we get hold of him now?"
Prescott asked no question, but watched with interest what followed. Across the yard Hal's squad bore the datto's body, to a point of the walls where the regulars were making their fiercest fight to repulse the Moros outside. "Two of you climb up on the wall," Hal ordered. "The other two pass the body up." This was done.
Sabbath evening Hal went over to Deacon Snow's, Clara was in her room writing to Louis, Ben reading in the kitchen, and I was left with Mr. Benton in Hal's room.
Hal's hand dropped to his belt, and his revolver came forth in his left hand. The reins he allowed to fall loose upon his horse's neck, while with his right hand he drew his sword. Chester, with the light of battle in his eyes, was already prepared.
"All right!" exclaimed the man, as he landed, for he had had a good safe swing in, and was in no way exhausted. "Hello there!" called Mr. Bingham: "Well, if this isn't luck. George Bingham!" Sure enough it was Hal's Uncle George, and Hal was hugging the big wet man, while the man was jolly, and laughing as if the whole thing were a good joke instead of the life-and-death matter it had been.
Don't do all that damage and spoil everything just for a false delusion, Boyee." But Hal's mind was brooding on the fatal promise which he had so confidently made his father. One way out there was. "Since it's a question of my word to you," he said, "I could still publish the truth about Milly Neal." "No. You couldn't do that, Boyee," said his father in a tone, half sorrowful, half shamed. "No.
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