Johnson, as he knelt beside his friend.

"Me—me next!" answered Fall-leaf. He made an effort to get upon his feet, but fell back.

"That voice again?" cried William, starting up, and listening.

"I hear nothing!" answered Johnson.

"But I do! It is a sound soft and plaintive. It echoes along the mountain, and I know its melody. It is the voice of Alibamo."

For a moment all were silent and listened eagerly to catch the distant sound, but it was so low and indistinct that nothing definite could be made of it.

"It is only the murmur of the river, William," said Johnson.

"To me it is the murmur of an angel, and I will trace its source. Johnson, you must remove Fall-leaf to our cabin. His wound is painful, and needs attention. Bury my father first, and then perform this duty. I will meet you to-morrow night."

Without further words, William darted from the spot, and commenced his course up the mountain toward the camp of Price. Now and then he paused to listen, but all was silent, save the murmur of the breeze among the oaks, and the rippling of the rills.

"Am I dreaming?" he at last exclaimed. "No—no! there is her voice again! Sister!"

William paused, listening intently.

Upon the clear, moonlight air, rang out a voice, sweeter than angels' echoes. But the words; they spoke of love—of willing captivity—of future joys mingled with hope. Of her brother-her father-and her lover—"Harry!"

"Is it possible she has loved a rebel! O God! is my cup of bitterness not yet full? But I will steal closer, and listen!"

In a short time he reached a rock, upon which, in the clear moonlight, could be seen, two forms. The one a female, pure and lovely as the moon's own rays; the other, a delicate youth, of about twenty years of age, yet bearing the impress of a noble soldier. Alibamo spoke:

"Are you not required in camp, dear Harry?"

"Yes, love—but here, also!"

"You would not sacrifice your duty for love?"

"My first duty is here—with one I love so wildly. And you love me, do you not, Alibamo?"

"Oh! Harry—I cannot tell you how dearly!"

"Then you are not my sister!" shrieked William, who had heard these words.

"Halt! Who comes there?"

These words were spoken by one of the sentinels of the picket. In an instant, William had darted from the spot. The sentinel fired upon him without effect. He was soon out of danger, and then paused irresolute. At length he said:

"It will be useless to return to night. That gun has aroused the camp, and they are beating the long roll. But, why should I wish to return. My sister loves a rebel. No! what is that? Why, he—her lover is waving the Stars and Stripes from yonder rock. He knows I see him—and hark!—she—my sister—is singing—The Star-Spangled Banner. Surely this is all a dream."

CHAPTER III.

The General—His Quarters—The Delay—The Expedition—The Instructions—The Departure.