"
A dark figure slowly approached and stood with uncovered head.
"What is it, James?" the master asked.
"It's too late, sir, for you and the mistis to be out in dis air--it's
chill an' fever time--"
"Thank you, James--we'll go in at once."
When the faithful footfall had died away, the lover lifted his bride in
his arms and carried her in, while she softly laughed and clung to his
strong young shoulders.
It came with swift, sure tread, the silent white figure of the
Pestilence that walks in Tropic Splendor.
The lover laughed the doctor's fears to scorn and the old man was brave
and cheerful in the presence of youth and happiness.
James Pemberton followed him to the gate and held his horse's bridle
with a tremor in his black hand.
"You don't think, doctor--" he paused, afraid to say the thing--"you
don't think my young mistis gwine ter die?"
"She's very ill, Jim--it's an even fight for life."
"Ef she do--hit'll kill my young marster--"
"Soldiers can't die that way--no--"
"Yassah--but dey ain't been married but three months, sah, an' he des
worship de very groun' her little foot walks on--she des can't die--she
too young an' putty, sah--hit des natchally can't be--"
The doctor's gray head slowly moved as if in remembrance of tragic
scenes.
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