no one to leave save me.

The evening of the fatal day--for the orders had come in the early
dawn--I was alone in my little parlor, already bare and desolate with
packing-cases. The wind had been rising since morning, and now blew
furiously from the west. Suddenly the door burst open and the surgeon
entered. I was shocked at his appearance, as, pale, haggard, with
disordered hair and clothing, he sank into a chair, and looked at me
in silence.

'Rodney, what is it?' I said.

He did not answer, but still looked at me with that strange gaze.
Alarmed, I rose, and went toward him, laying my hand on his shoulder
with a motherly touch. I loved the quiet, gray-eyed youth next after
Archie.

'What is it, my poor boy! Can I help you?'

'O Aunt Sarah, perhaps you can, for you know her.'

'Her?' I repeated, with sinking heart.

'Yes. Jeannette.'

I sat down and folded my hands; trouble had come, but it was not what
I apprehended,--the old story of military life, love, and desertion;
the ever-present ballad of the 'gay young knight who loves and rides
away.' This was something different.