Late in the evening Dr. Denslow’s stretcher corps brough in Harry Glen, who had fallen in the last charge with a flesh wound in the leg. Until he woke the next morning to find her sitting by his bedside, Harry thought he had been dreaming all the time that Rachel Bond had come to him, dressed in quaint country garb, and loosed with gentle, painless fingers the stiff, blood-encrusted bandage about his head, and replaced it with something that soothed and eased his fevered temples.

“I have very good news for you,” she said, later in the day. “Kent Edwards says that you are promoted to Captain, by special orders, for ‘Conspicuous gallantry on the battle-field of Stone River.’”

“And when are we to be married?” he asked.

“Just as soon as you are able to travel back to Sardis.”

They looked up and saw Dr. Denslow standing beside them. A stunned look on his face indicated that he had heard and understood all. This speedily gave away to his accustomed expression of serene philosophy.

“Forget me, except as a friend,” he said. “It is better as it is for you, Harry, and certainly better for her. Possibly it is better for”—with a little gasp—“me. The sweets of love are not for me. They are irrational, and irrational things are carefully eliminated from my scheme of life.”

Towards evening Fortner came in with the news “Thet ole Bragg picked up his traps and skipped out fur Tullahoma, ter nuss his hurts, leavin’ his wounded and lots o’ stores in our hands.”

So was gained the great victory of Stone River.

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