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“O’Grady, man, lie down here. I’m going to get something that will help you. Tell me one thing: how long had you been drinking before you were confined?”

“About forty-eight hours, sir, off and on.”

“How long since you ate anything?”

“I don’t know, sir; not for two days, I think.”

“Well, try and lie still. I’m coming back to you in a very few minutes.”

And with that Mr. Billings strode from the room, leaving O’Grady, dazed, wonder-stricken, gazing stupidly after him.

The lieutenant went straight to his quarters, took a goodly-sized goblet from the painted pine sideboard, and with practised hand proceeded to mix therein a beverage in which granulated sugar, Angostura bitters, and a few drops of lime-juice entered as minor ingredients, and the coldest of spring-water and a brimming measure of whiskey as constituents of greater quality and quantity. Filling with this mixture a small leather-covered flask, and stowing it away within the breast-pocket of his blouse, he returned to the guard-house, musing as he went, “‘If this be treason,’ said Patrick Henry, ‘make the most of it.’ If this be conduct prejudicial, etc., say I, do your d–dest. That man would be in the horrors of jim-jams in half an hour more if it were not for this.” And so saying to himself, he entered the prison-room, called to the sergeant to bring him some cold water, and then approached O’Grady, who rose unsteadily and strove to stand attention, but the effort was too much, and again he covered his face with his arms, and threw himself in utter misery at the foot of the bunk.

Mr. Billings drew the flask from his pocket, and, touching O’Grady’s shoulder, caused him to raise his head:

“Drink this, my lad. I would not give it to you at another time, but you need it now.”

Eagerly it was seized, eagerly drained, and then, after he had swallowed a long draught of the water, O’Grady slowly rose to his feet, looking, with eyes rapidly softening and losing their wild glare, upon the young officer who stood before him. Once or twice he passed his hands across his forehead, as though to sweep away the cobwebs that pressed upon his brain, but for a moment he did not essay a word. Little by little the color crept back to his cheek; and, noting this, Mr. Billings smiled very quietly, and said, “Now, O’Grady, lie down; you will be able to sleep now until the men come in at noon; then you shall have another drink, and you’ll be able to eat what I send you. If you cannot sleep, call the sergeant of the guard; or if you want anything, I’ll come to you.”

Then, with tears starting to his eyes, the soldier found words: “I thank the lieutenant. If I live a thousand years, sir, this will never be forgotten,–never, sir! I’d have gone crazy without your help, sir.”

Mr. Billings held out his hand, and, taking that of his prisoner, gave it a cordial grip: “That’s all right, O’Grady. Try to sleep now, and we’ll pull you through. Good-by, for the present.” And, with a heart lighter, somehow, than it had been of late, the lieutenant left.

At noon that day, when the prisoners came in from labor and the officer’s of the day inspected their general condition before permitting them to go to their dinner, the sergeant of the guard informed him that O’Grady had slept quietly almost all the morning, but was then awake and feeling very much better, though still weak and nervous.

“Do you think he can walk over to my quarters?” asked Mr. Billings.

“He will try it, sir, or anything the lieutenant wants him to try.”

“Then send him over in about ten minutes.”

Home once more, Mr. Billings started a tiny blaze in his oil-stove, and soon had a kettle of water boiling merrily. Sharp to time a member of the guard tapped at the door, and, on being bidden “Come in,” entered, ushering in O’Grady; but meantime, by the aid of a little pot of meat-juice and some cayenne pepper, a glass of hot soup or beef-tea had been prepared, and, with some dainty slices of potted chicken and the accompaniments of a cup of fragrant tea and some ship-biscuit, was in readiness on a little table in the back room.