hall, forced to pass By the stretcher (low brougham of misery), she Whom we know was Ruth Somerville, looked down to see The white, haggard face of the man whom her mind Had strayed off in a waking day vision to find But a moment before. The wild, passionate cry Which arose in her heart, was held back, nor passed by The white sentinels set on her lip. The serene, Lofty look which deep feeling controlled gives the mien Marked her air as she turned to the surgeon and said: "This man lying here, either dying or dead, Was a classmate, at Yale, of my brother's; my friend Is his wife. Let me stay by his side to the end, If the end has not come." The wild, passionate cry It was Roger Montrose, Grown old with his sins and grown gaunt with his woes, Lying low in his manhood before her. It was Roger Montrose, His eyes Opened slowly; a wondering look of surprise Met the soft orbs above him. "Ruth—Ruth Somerville," He said feebly. "Tell Mabel"—then sighed, and was still. His eyes But it was not the stillness of death. There was life In that turbulent heart yet; that heart torn with strife, Scarred with passion, and wracked by the pangs of remorse. "Death's swift leaden messenger missed in its course By the breadth of a hair," said the surgeon. "The ball Lies in there by the shoulder. His chances are small For a new start on earth. While a sober man might Hope to conquer grim Death in this hand-to-hand fight, Here old Alcohol stands as Death's second, fierce, cruel, And stronger than Life's one aid, skill, in the duel. You tell me the wife of this man is your friend? He was shot by a woman, who then made an end Of her own life. I hope it was not——" "Oh, no—no, Not his wife," Ruth replied, "for he left her to go With this other, his victim—poor creature—they say She was good till she met him. Ah! what a black way For love's rose scented path to lead down to, and end. God pity her, pity her." "Her, not your friend? Not his wife?" There was gentle reproof in the tone Of the staid old physician. Ruth's eyes met his own In brave, silent warfare; the blue and the gray Again faced each other in battle array. There was gentle reproof in the tone Ruth: I pity
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