The surgeon looked sad. There was evidently reason to fear the
worst; and, accustomed as he was to such scenes, he was now but
poorly prepared to meet it.
"Rubineau is expiring," whispered a lad, as he proceeded quietly
among the ranks of soldiers surrounding the tent of the wounded.
And it was so. His friends had gathered around his couch, and,
conscious of the approach of his dissolution, he bade them all
farewell, and kissed them.
"Tell her I love, I die an honorable death; tell her that her
Rubineau fell where the arms of the warriors clashed the closest,
and that victory hovered above him as his arm grew powerless; and,
O, tell her that it was all for her sake,--love for her nerved his
arm, and love for her is borne upward on his last, his dying prayer.
Tell her to love as I--"
"He is gone, sir," said the surgeon.
"Gone!" exclaimed a dozen voices.
"A brave man has fallen," remarked another, as he raised his arm,
and wiped the flowing tears from his cheek.
CHAPTER III.
At the mansion of the old general every arrival of news from the war
sent a thrill of joy through the hearts of its inmates.
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