He's
always carried round a dream of me, you see--no, you wouldn't see, but
I've been--well, I guess sort of a medallion that won't tarnish in his
heart. Wheeler, for the boy's few weeks he has left? Wheeler?"
"Well, I'll be hanged!"
"I'm not turning holy, Wheeler. I am what I am. But that boy lying
out there--I can't bear it! It wouldn't make any difference with
us--afterward. You know where you stand with me and for always, but it
would mean the dying happy of a boy who fought for us. Let me marry
that boy, Wheeler. Let his light go out in happiness. Wheeler? Please,
Wheeler?" He would not meet her eyes. "Wheeler?"
"Go to it, Hester," he said, coughing about in his throat and rising to
walk away. "Bring him here and give him the fat of the land. You can
count on me to keep out of the way. Go to it," he repeated.
And so they were married, Hester holding his hand beside the hospital
cot, the man nurse and doctor standing by, and the chaplain incanting
the immemorial words.
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