troops and Tyrolese jägers, to whom our raw
and boyish levies had been opposed.

Captain Bezzi, twice condemned to death by
Austrian tribunals, received a ball in the ankle,
shattering the bone, in one of the desperate
conflicts of the morning, when retreat became
inevitable. Canzio, the general's son-in-law,
went up to him.

"You are a brave man, Bezzi," he said, "and
your character is sufficiently known. Take
you charge of the retreat. I remain."

Bezzi refused; but ultimately finding his
men falling fast, with no hope of retrieving the
day, yielded to necessity.

Our friend Major W. hearing of his wound,
and unwilling that he should remain so near his
implacable foes (though repulsed), ordered his
carriage and brought him safely to Tiarno.

To describe the scenes at the hospitals
improvised at the church and other buildings of
the two Tiarnos, would demand a stronger
pen than mine. The injuries inflicted by the
shells and the terrible jäger bullets were more
than usually severe, yet only one or two of the
boasted medical staff were to be found. Their
chief was far away. There were no
ambulances, no bandages, no lint, no food, and very
many of the wounded received not the slightest
notice or relief for many weary hours. Two
kind ladies, who accompanied head-quarters,
Mrs. Chambers and Madame Cibaleri (wife of the
chief of the telegraphic staff), tore up their very
dresses and linen to bind the wounds, and the
parish priest of Tiarno di Sotto—though no
friend to our general—bestirred himself nobly to
provide whatever was most needed. In half an
hour, he had the greater part of his flock engaged
in preparing lint, bandages, and broth, for the
sufferers that crowded the church.

The fortitude of the young soldiers was
astonishing. No matter how severe their hurts
—except in the agony of probing, or of amputation
(for, of course, no chloroform had been
supplied)—not a groan or exclamation was to
be heard. For many hours, the tramp of bearers,
and the low murmurs of the hospital attendants,
were the only sounds audible.

THE SECOND MRS. TILLOTSON.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "NEVER FORGOTTEN."

BOOK IV.

CHAPTER XXX. THE BEGINNING OF A WEARY
NIGHT.

AFTER the conference with Martha about the
fatal letter from the bank, Mr. Tillotson thought
a good deal, and suddenly the faithful trusting
image of Captain Diamond came limping to his
friend's bedroom. He was greatly shocked at
the alteration in Tillotson's face; the worn
wasted look, and, at the same time, the quick
feverish fire that was in it. But wishing to give
comfort, as usual, he protested that he never
saw a man "who had plucked up so well."

Mr. Tillotson shook his head sadly. "You
have heard, of course," he said, "of the bank.
It has half ruined me—not that I mind that.
There are other things that are wearing me
down, You are my friend, the only one I have
left now, and you will promise to stand by
me now. May I rely on you ?"

"Indeed, yes," said the captain, warmly,
"that you may, my boy—heart, soul, body, and
bones, and the old leg, too, such as it is! I
wish I could do more, Tillotson; but I know
there is a hundred or so at home, and fifty
that Tom McMurdo has, and I dare say, with
the pay as security——"

"No, no, my dear captain," said the other,
gratefully,"not that. You are too good. We
have plenty left. You can help me in another
way—much more important."

Then he began to tell the story of his
certainties, his suspicions, all in detail—the
letter, the discovery of his private history. It
was so circumstantial and so convincing that
the good captain stood aghast, and had not a
protest to make.

"Egad, Tillotson," he said, ruefully, "I
don't know what to say."

"But I tell you what we must do," said the
other. "I rely on you, on you only. Promise
me. Think of me, a miserable, dying,
abandoned man, with a faithless wife—O
Heaven, how I have loved her, and love her now!
—plotting and plotting to destroy me. But
I can't look on. I owe something to my own
dignity—I can't let it go further. I must save
her still—save her in spite of herself. Then I
can die in peace."

"Save her?" said the captain, wondering.

"Yes, save her. Don't you see to what all
this points? That Ross—she says he is gone.
I know better. He is not on shipboard yet.
The vessel does not sail till to-morrow night.
We must watch her, and I rely on you. Don't
desert me."

The captain, full of deep pity, promised with
all his heart and soul, and went away to be
back in "a short half hour." And thus set
in a strange and most eventful day. No
one was guilty, no one was in fault; but all
seemed hurried on by some piteous misunderstanding,
and it did seem as though the old
Greek "necessity"—that cruel fate—was
revived again, and working out all the mischief of
this unhappy day. It had set in a dark iron-
toned day, gloomy and chilling, with an east
wind flying round corners like steel arrows.
Many an ancient chest was pierced on that day,
and went home charged with miserable coughs
and asthma.

There is no need to dwell very long on its
details. The captain returned even more
promptly than he had promised. In the drawing-
room, a little to his embarrassment, he met
Mrs. Tillotson. "I am coming to stay with
our invalid for the day. Tom's poor company
enough, Heaven knows! But he likes it, poor
fellow."

Mrs. Tillotson, still sitting in a reverie, with
her hand to her pale face, answered coldly,