On almost every breeze came the sounds of conflicts or victories, or defeats, or mournings and heart-breakings, which chimed harshly with the shouts of exultations and cheers of the conquering hosts. On every breeze went up also to the great Father and God of battles the wail of anguish, the cry for mercy from breaking hearts, as well as the earnest plea for protection for loved ones in the perils of war; and the gentle spirit whispered to the despairing soul, "What I do ye know not now, but ye shall know." Blessed comforter! What could be done with all the mysteries of life that continually creep about us to chill and paralyze our being were it not for its peaceful influences? But let us return to glance at the terrible battle of Bull Run, which sent dismay into thousands of homes where the dearest ties of love were severed and the strongest links of earth broken forever. Let history paint the dark cloud that hung over the blood-stained field, casting their sombre shadows on the lonely graves of the early sacrificed.
There was much wondering in high circles how the plan of attack was so well known to the opposite forces, which would have ceased could they have looked in upon the "wealthy English lady" for a moment, who with her hostess, was waitingfor their private messenger who was expected every moment with the latest news from the seat of conflict, which was to assure them that the Union army was defeated. The dignity of the mistress of Rosedale was for the time laid aside while she reveled in the very abandonment of her exuberant joy.
"This pays me after all for the risks I have run," she exclaimed with a toss of her regal head. "Wondering eyes will flash to-day, and aching hearts exult. I have been waiting for this. The hour of vengeance never loses itself though the whole world should turn over in wholesale confusion."
"Do not, Mrs. Southey!" pleaded her companion, "for it seems even to me that there is a sure prophecy in your words. Vengeance! Will it hunt us out at last?"
"Hush! I was not speaking of such minor facts as ourselves. The prophecy, as you term it, only incidentally bubbled up with the shouts of victory; that was all." But the stern face paled perceptibly as she uttered these careless words.
"It may be well to shout, still I advise you not to be too highly elated, for remember the reports are not all in yet, and I am in possession of a few drawbacks as to the final results. By the way, did you notice the remark of that senator last night about traitors and spies? I looked up to see if you experienced any peculiar sensations about the throat."
"Did I show any signs of suffocation?"
"I did not perceive it."
"Then your look was not very penetrating. I hope all of my friends will be equally considerate."
"Then you did feel a little uncomfortable?"
"Only for a moment. I might, of course, make a misstep that would slightly disarrange my mask, and it would, as you know, be uncomfortable to have curious eyes peering beneath it, and the possibility, at times, causes a little unpleasantness." A smile played feebly across the face of the speaker, which soon died away, leaving cheek and brow a shade paler than before. No doubt her soul had taken another peep through the rifted curtain that was shutting out her future, and beheld something that must have appalled her. And what wonder? "The way of the transgressor is hard."
"I have been thinking," continued the other lady, after a long pause, "that we must follow the noble example of the patriotic ladies of Washington and visit the hospitals. We might do great good there. Kindly hearts and willing hands will, without doubt, be in great demand on the present occasion. As for me, I am anxious to be about the work," and she turned to the window.
"A grand thought, and shows conclusively that you have remarkable diplomatic powers, altogether unlooked for in our sex. I shall be ready to follow your lead in such a noble suggestion at our earliest convenience; but it will never do to go empty-handed. The poor fellows will need many things. If we are to be ministering angels, you know, we must take the oil and wine."
How different from all this were the feelings and aspirations of the little group gathered together in the widow's cottage on the banks of the grand old Hudson. Three days after the above conversation in Washington, Anna Pierson returned from the village post-office, as was her custom, bearing inher hand several papers, which were distributed as usual.
"No letters, Mother," was the prompt reply to the anxious, inquiring look as she entered. "It is not time, unless they were written immediately, and we should not expect that."
Her words were cheerful, for she had carefully prepared them during her walk; but her heart was troubled with fearful apprehensions, and she dared not consult one of those silent messengers that were clasped so tightly in her hand until she had entered her own room and seated herself by the window. Then she cast her eyes over the long columns: "The Great Battle! From our own Correspondent." Why did she not read further? She had longed all day for that very article, and now that it was before her, her eyes turned towards the clouds in the west as though her thoughts were all centered within their shadowy folds. Ah, there are many hearts to-day wherein these sad memories still linger.Theycould tell why Anna Pierson did not read, why she shrank from the terrible revelations that might be before her. There were many names included in the correspondent's letter over which her eyes hurriedly ran.
"Thank God!" Fell from her lips as she reached the end of the list without seeing a familiar name; but below was a P. S.:
"I have just learned that Col. St. Clair of the Confederate army has been brought into our lines dangerously wounded."
The paper dropped upon the floor beside her as she sat silent and motionless among the falling shadows, until a timid rap on the door startled her. In a moment Ellen entered, and without aword threw herself at Anna's feet, and, hiding her face in her companion's dress, wept aloud. An arm stole softly about her neck and a hand smoothed caressingly the dark braids of her hair.
"Don't, O don't, dear Ellen," she said; "let us talk together. I have been a full half-hour coming to a conclusion regarding my duty in this terrible crisis. Listen, now, while I tell you my determination." These words of love were so gentle and kind, and her voice so full of sympathy, that Ellen soon found herself soothed and comforted under their tender influences.
"Yes, Anna, do tell me, for I was never at such a loss regarding my own duty as now, and perhaps your decision may aid me."
"Perhaps it will. Well, it is this: I am going to him. He will need tender care, and I will bestow it. You, dear girl, must take my place here; will you?"
"Yes, Anna, but—"
"No matter; you know I was to give you my matured decision, so do not imagine that it is possible for me to waver."
"Your mother, Anna; what will she say?"
"She will not hinder me. But I shall expect you to be a daughter to her as well as to your own parents. All will need you to cheer them during my absence. I shall place them in your care with the full faith that all will be well."
"I cannot understand you, Anna. I came here faint and trembling at the very thought of his sufferings, to find you all ready to go to his relief, willing to sacrifice home for only a friend, while I, his sister, had not supposed such a thing possible."
"Only a friend." Was this true? Could sympathy alone have compelled such a sacrifice? Memories of other days came stealing in upon her senses like sweet odors from a far-off land, but she thrust them aside, and kissing the upturned face before her, said, smilingly:
"Never mind, dear; perhaps you will know me better some day. You are, however, mistaken in thinking me all ready, for I shall be obliged to wait until Monday to finish my preparations. I shall gather a few luxuries with many little things that I feel I shall require; so let us go to work and banish present sorrow with busy hands."
True to her purpose, in three days Anna emerged from her baptism of benedictions and farewells, and, laden with endearing messages and tokens of love for the suffering one, stepped on board the "Vanderbilt," that was to bear her forward on her chosen errand of mercy. Numerous and varied were the emotions that took possession of her heart as, when alone seated on the deck of the noble steamer, she found time at last for calm reflection. Would she find him alive? And would he be glad to see her? Then came stealing into her thoughts the unwelcome fact, like the whisperings of the serpent in the garden of flowers: "He is a rebel!" The suggestions ran on; "will it be possible to minister to the necessities of one like him without incurring censure? Arebel!" Tears came to her eyes. She had taken no time for weeping since the sad news reached her, but now she gave free vent to them although knowing that curious eyes were upon her. But sorrow was no uncommon spectacle in those days of bereavement and heart-breakings. Then came a thought as softly as steals the soft sunbeam that dries up the summer rain: "My brothers are safe; his hand is powerless now to do them harm. Who knows but he will cease to contend for a cause he has not loved; to struggle for a victory his heart never desired."
"She placed the cup to his lips.""She placed the cup to his lips."
One who had not looked on the scenes in a hospital after a battle, has no idea of the soul-depressing sights that everywhere present themselves. So thought Anna who, after two days of restlessness and anxiety in Washington, at last obtained permission to go to Alexandria where she was most needed. While standing among the dead and dying, what wonder that her cheeks paled and her eyes were filled with tears of pity? It was where new accessions were almost continually being made of such as had not previously been able to be moved from the field-tents and private houses where they had been carried. The poor sufferers were brought in upon stretchers or blankets and laid on the floor, waiting for their wounds to be examined, or the stumps of amputated limbs to be redressed, and weather-beaten bodies to be made more comfortable generally; before being taken to the next ward, where nice clean beds were waiting them. Just before her a young man with dark brown hair and deep blue eyes was lying on a mattress where two men had placed him. One leg was gone, and a blood-stained bandage was about his forehead. How pale and wan he looked! His gaze was upon her, and his lips moved. In a moment she was beside him. "Water," was all she could make out. Here was work; why should she be looking for any other? She placed the cup to his lips and raised his head tenderly while hedrank. A cup of cold water! How sweet were the blessings that came in upon her soul as she gave it to him! "Thank you," and a feeble smile came to his lips.
"Will you take this basin and wash some of their hands and faces?" asked a cheery voice near her. "I will get another. Poor fellows; they sadly need soap and water before clean clothing can be put on them."
It was a kind, sympathizing face into which she looked while listening to the request, and although she hesitated to commence so strange a task, it was but for a moment. There was a world of thankfulness in the blue eyes that looked into hers as she took away the blood-stained bandage and smoothed back the dark locks from the brow while she bathed and cooled it with a soft, gentle hand.
"You are so kind," he murmured at last; "God bless you."
"He does," was the quiet answer, and the mild eyes closed, but not to sleep.
"Do you suffer much?" she asked as she laid the hand she had been washing back on the heaving breast.
"Not much; yet I shall not live. My mother, O my mother!" A tear escaped from beneath the closed lids and dropped down upon the hard pillow. Anna saw it as she turned to leave and stopped to wipe it away. "I will see you again," she whispered and then passed on.
A burly son of Erin was lying near with an arm missing and a foot thickly bandaged. With an encouraging smile from the nurse who was engaged in administering to one who might have been his brother, Anna bared her arms to the work.
"Shall I try to improve your appearance a little?" she asked, at the same time kneeling beside him.
"Holy Vargin bless ye, Miss," he ejaculated. "It's not the likes of ye's who should be doin' it; but the Son of Mary will bless ye, Miss. Look yonder," he continued, "d'ye see that gray-back in the corner there? He's a reb; ye's wont wash his face, sure?"
"Certainly we will," replied Anna, who could not help smiling at the eagerness of her questioner. "The Bible tells us to 'do good to them that despitefully use us.' I have no doubt his face needs washing as much as yours, and should I not do it?"
"Faith and I'd put lots of soap in his eyes, and wash up instead of down, if I did it at all, at all."
The girl sighed as she tugged away at the worn out boot that seemed unwilling to yield to her powers, but it came off at last, and with elevated nostrils she continued her labor of mercy. While thus engaged she looked occasionally towards the rebel coat in the corner; but it was not he for whom she had been anxiously searching, yet her heart did not fail to upbraid her for an apparent neglect. She had inquired as often as she thought judicious, but had learned nothing. "Perhaps he will soon be brought in," she thought, and her eyes turned searchingly upon every new-comer. Close by was one who had just finished his mortal sufferings, and beyond another so still that one might have thought him dead; but as Anna laid her hand upon his forehead he opened his eyes and looked at her.
The surgeons were busy with their work, and all day her hands were never idle. Three times had she received the last words of love from pallid lips for loved ones far away, and each time had promised to send their precious remembrances or tokens of undying affection from the lost whom they never in life would look upon again; and no wonder that at last she should return to her lodgings weary and sick at heart!
"I fear I have kept you waiting," she said as she passed her landlady in the hall; "but I have been very busy."
"I understand it; how worn-out you must be! Katy is in the kitchen keeping a cup of tea for you," and with a thankful heart Anna proceeded thither followed by the lady.
"I hope you will pardon me," she continued, "but a soldier has been almost thrust upon me to-day, and I have been obliged to change your room. I was sure you would forgive me after you knew all. He is an officer whom the general did not like to take to the hospital, as it would not be very pleasant for him, being a prisoner from the Confederate army."
"A Confederate?" queried Anna, with some agitation. "Do you know his name?"
"Colonel St. Clair. Why, my dear girl, how strangely you look! Is he a friend of yours?"
"He is. Is he severely wounded?"
"Badly, I believe, yet I do not know how. Would you like to see him to-night?"
"No, unless he needs my services."
"I think he was sleeping when I came down. The surgeon was here an hour ago, and his negro servant is with him now."
"Then I will not disturb him. In the morning I will go."
Anna Pierson forgot her weariness as she seated herself with her writing desk to finish up her day's toils by penning the promised letters of sympathy and condolence to the friends of those who had that day entered the silent land where there would be no more war; and when all was finished thoughts of home, and loved ones waiting there, came and she wrote on, closing with the promise to finish on the morrow after she had seen him whom she came to seek. And then she slept.
Before the night had gathered up all its dark shadows there came a low rap on her door which aroused her, and, springing from her bed, wondered how she could have slept so long. Mrs. Howard entered.
"I am sorry to awake you so soon," she said, "but he seems so anxious to have you come to him, that I could not well wait longer. I told him there was a lady here to see him, but would not tell him your name. He appears a little brighter this morning, and says he rested pretty well," she continued. "Shall I tell him you are coming?"
"Yes, in just a minute; for you know it does not take us Yankee girls long to dress," she responded, assuming a playfulness she did not at all feel. True to her word, however, in a marvelously short time she opened the door of the sick man's chamber softly and closed it again as noiselessly behind her. His face was turned towards the wall, and he did not move until she stood beside him. Softly laying her hand on his she whispered his name, "George St. Clair." A sudden flushof joy overspread his face as his fingers closed tightly over hers, while the response, "Anna, my good angel, how came you here?" burst from his lips. "How glad I am that I have not on that hated uniform. You will not despise me now? But tell me first how came you here?"
"Just as any one would who had not wings to fly; but my mission is to take care of you until you get well."
"I am unworthy. But talk to me of loved ones, of yourself, of everything."
A pleasant hour followed, and both were happier than they had been for many a day. Clouds were rising that were to cover the calm blue of the clear sky above them, but they saw them not.
How kind in the Father to deal out his chastenings as he does his blessings, one by one, else the poor heart could not bear them!
The Capitol in War Times
"Anna." It was a faint, tremulous voice that called through the half-open door of the wounded man's chamber, as the young girl was passing; but it was sufficiently clear to arrest her progress, and she stood still for a moment, listening and wondering that she should be called at such a time. The surgeon was in attendance, as was his custom, although the hour was an early one, he being, as St. Clair had told her, an old friend and traveling companion in Europe a few years before, which accounted without doubt for his unusual attention at such a busy time. Anna had not met him during the few days she had been in the house as her services had not been required during his visits, wherefore her surprise at now hearing her name. While thinking the matter over the call was repeated, and without farther hesitation she hastened to him. The wounded man was lying on his side, partly supported by his servant, whose tears of sympathy were rapidly flowing. The surgeon was bending over the prostrate form with face unmoved, probing and dressing the fearful wound. In a moment Anna was kneeling by the drooping head which hung faintly down on the side of the bed, and, with a sudden impulse of feeling, raised it tenderly to her shoulder and pressed her lips on his cold, damp forehead.
"Poor George," she whispered, as she smoothed back his dark hair, "it is very hard. How sorry I am for you."
"I can bear it all now, and more if need be," and the strained eyes which looked up into the pale anxious face bore testimony to his words.
"It is hard to suffer with no loving hand to wipe the drops of agony from the brow, but endurable when fond lips kiss them away. Dear girl!" he added, in a whisper, just as the surgeon finished his work, bidding the servant to lay him down gently upon the pillow. When this was done he turned, and apparently for the first time discovered that another had joined their number.
"There, my good fellow," he remarked, cheerfully, "I hope you will not be obliged to go through that operation again. It is healing nicely; and if we can keep the inflammation down and the wound open under the shoulder-blade for a few days, the best results may be hoped for. The trouble is, St. Clair, you have too many chicken-hearted ones to care for you. Your servant must be more thorough." While making this remark his eyes were fixed intently on the face of Anna.
"Miss Pierson, doctor," said St. Clair, with an attempt to a formal introduction, "and let me tell you, she would never be worthy of the slur you have just cast. Should you tell her to perform your most disagreeable commands, I feel positive they would be carried out to the very letter."
"You are welcome to try me," said Anna.
"Can I trust you?"
"I came for that very purpose."
"Then listen." Whereupon followed a long list of commands and injunctions.
"You will perceive he has also a fever, which must be kept in subjection, not only by strictly administering the medicines but by shielding him from every excitement. I may not be here again for two or three days, but shall feel comparatively easy now that I can leave him in your hands."
"I shall endeavor to do my duty, as far as I am able, sir."
"I believe you; good morning."
And, taking the hand of each, the busy doctor left the room.
Mrs. Howard met him in the hall below to inquire about the patient.
"Did I understand that young lady's name was Pierson?" he asked, as he was about to depart.
"Yes."
"Has she any friends in the army?"
"She has two brothers, she told me."
"Then one of them was buried yesterday. I was sure of it as soon as I looked into her face. They were very much alike. Poor fellow! I found him near the rebel colonel up stairs, and the long exposure hastened his death."
Again the surgeon bowed and hurried away.
The kind-hearted old lady stood for a moment stupefied with pity and perplexity.
"It was too bad he did not tell her," she thought as she looked after him. Her mind wandered off to the widow on the banks of the Hudson of whom Anna had spoken. She, too, was a widow, and had a son in the Confederate army. It was hard for her that he was there, but how heart-rending if he should die far away and be buried in an unknown grave! Could she break the sad intelligence to the bereaved girl? The colonel needed her. Shouldshe advise her to do what her sympathizing heart prompted? She pondered it over for a few minutes, and then her decision was taken. She hastened up the stairway and rapped gently at the door. It was opened immediately by Anna.
"I would like to see you for a short time," she said, as the happy face beamed upon her.
"I will come soon," and turning to the bed she remarked: "You must sleep now after such an expenditure of nerve power;" and arranging the pillows that the head might more readily rest she placed her hand on the smooth white forehead as she pressed her lips to his.
"I can sleep sweetly now, good angel, since the old scorn has been taken out of my memory!" and he settled quietly down.
"Scorn! One like poor me bestowing such a commodity on one like you?" and laughing she turned to leave.
"It may be that attribute is not in your nature, but—"
"Yes—the uniform," suggested Anna. "Well; you are never to play the 'wolf' again, you know?"
"Never, nonever!" With a joyous step she tripped from the room to join Mrs. Howard below stairs.
"I have some sad news for you—perhaps I ought not at such a time as this trouble you, but my conscience would upbraid me should I keep it to myself; besides, you must know it sometime."
"O,dotell me!" interrupted Anna impatiently.
"I will! You have told me of your brothers and that you had found on inquiry that both wereuninjured. Nothing is easier than such mistakes in these times."
"Mistake? Was I mistaken? Are they not safe?"
"I have heard only about one. He was found on the battle field not far from the colonel upstairs. Both had been exposed so long to the rains that your brother could not rally and he died and was buried yesterday!"
"Died?Are yousurehe died? Itcannotbe! Where was he?" Anna did not weep; such a flood of thought and feeling rushed in upon her brain that it forced back the tears. More than a week had she been in Washington and Alexandria while he had been suffering and dying! O,whycould she not have found him—listened to his last words and received his last blessing? Ah—this was a cold wave that was dashing over her soul; but there was one to come more chilling, more furious and overwhelming even than this! "They were together!" Could it be that those hands that had so lately clasped hers as she listened to words of love were stained with her brother's blood? They were opponents and found near to each other when the conflict was over!Enemies!O how these thoughts maddened her! They seemed to tear her verysoul! She remained motionless and silent so long that Mrs. Howard ventured to say:
"It may be you would like to find out where he died and where they have buried him? You can, perhaps, procure his body and take it home for interment. This would be a great consolation to his poor mother I am sure; I know it would be to me!"
Those words, "home" and "mother," opened the secret avenue to her soul, and tears came plentifully to her relief. "O, yes!" she sobbed, after a moment's pause; "I will go immediately! I have much to do and must not waste my time in weeping; but it is so horrible! How will my mother endure it?" Again the tears came, but with repeated efforts she drove them back and arose to leave the room. "I will leave my patient with you," she stopped to say. "I have no doubt you can do all that is required; at any rate I must go! Do everything for him in your power and be sure you will be amply rewarded. When he inquires for me tell him the sad story; will you? I go to bury my brother by the side of his father, and where loving hands can care for and protect his grave! Hecan notrest here!"
Her companion looked at her in surprise. Her form was erect and firm; her eyes sparkled with the fire of heroism! In half an hour Anna came from her chamber prepared for a walk. She told her friend that she was going first to the telegraph office and then to the hospital to learn what she could for her mother's sake! "Ellen must come to take my place by her brother's side," she concluded. "But must I see him no more? It is hard! But thestained hand! My brother's blood!" How much agony can be crowded into a phantom thought! Poor Anna! Then whispered her heart: "He may die! To agitate him might bring very serious consequences;" she had drawn this from the words of the surgeon. "Ellen must soothe and comfort him;" and she hastened on her errand of love. In a few hours she had done all she could, and was seated in her room, weary andheart-sore, to think over the incidents of the morning.
How full the moments had been crowded! In her hand she was holding the locket that was his, in which was her own and her mother's pictures the kind nurse had promised to send to them. How precious it would always be to her! His last look of earth was on their faces; his last words were blessings implored for them. She had learned it all from the kind one who had bent over him at that moment when his noble spirit winged its way from the poor mangled body towards the land of peace and rest. "How kind in her to be so explicit! How soothing were the tears of sympathy that fell from a stranger's eyes!" Then her thoughts returned to the living. How was he? Had he wished for her? Was he very unhappy without her? Could she ever meet him again? What should she do? What was her duty? O the buffetings of a tempest-tossed soul!
Poor Anna; there was an undefined longing in her heart she did not then understand, and so was left to grieve as one who had no hope! It was a fearful struggle between heart and judgment as she supposed, andwhoshould settle it at last? An answer to the morning's telegram was brought in; "Ellen will be here in three days," she concluded after reading it, "and then I shall be at liberty to return home with my dead!" Home! There was a sacredness in that word now—a sad solemnity that oppressed the heart as she remembered the sombre emblems of bereavement that were darkening it! There had been only the shadows of separations in the loving circle for many years, and even these had been lighted up with the brightgildings of hopeful reunion! How would that mother bear the first great blow dealt by the crimson hand of war? Where was Elmore? They had told her that he was probably safe and had been hurried away with his regiment, but might be wounded or a prisoner.
"How he will miss the absent one!" she thought. The mother, it was true, had laid her two sons upon the altar of sacrifice, but never had failed morning or evening to plead that the fire might not fall and consume them. One had been taken; and the shadow from the dark-winged angel would settle heavily down upon the widow's peaceful, quiet home! Tears fell fast. She was so happy a few hours ago, now how dark life seemed to her. How fickle are our joys and what a little breath will sometimes blow them out! Strange that clouds should follow so closely in the wake of the summer's sun! Lights and shadows; calms and storms; hopes and despairs make up the individual lives.
Troubled child! Why did she not in her perplexity turn her face towards the source of all wisdom and grace? Why do not you, gentle reader? Her eyes were steadfastly fixed on the ground where the shadows always lie the thickest, rather than with the penetrating vision of faith endeavoring to pierce the sombre clouds above her head. The sound of footsteps along the hall aroused her. "Some one is going tohisroom. His room!" And the shadows clustered more closely about her heart! It was so sad that the great phantom which had appeared the first time when George St. Clair stood before her in the uniformof the confederate army should come to her now with such an air of certainty!
"They were found together!" She had dreamed of this; she had started from her sleep at seeing that hand which pressed her cheek while he read the secrets of her fluttering heart, stained with the blood of his victim, and that victim her idolized brother! It had come at last, and O, how terrible the realization! Rising hastily she replaced her bonnet and hurried from the room. On the stairs she met Mrs. Howard.
"Colonel St. Clair is very anxious you should come to him," she said; "and seems distressed that you do not. He told me to bear to you his deepest sympathy, and I saw a tear in his eye as he told me. Will you not go to him to-day, Miss Pierson? I think his fever is a little higher this afternoon. Do not refuse, for I fear it will do him harm."
A sudden faintness came over her as she listened to these pleadings, and she trembled so violently that she was obliged to seat herself for a moment. At last with great effort she said: "Take to him my thanks for the sympathy he sent me, and if I can by any means bind up the main artery of my heart that I feel has been severed I will see him again;" and without another word she arose and hastened from the house.
"Is the child crazy?" muttered Mrs. Howard as she proceeded up the stairway. "She has changed fearfully during the last few hours, that is certain!" And this she told the wounded man when he anxiously inquired for her a few minutes after.
A groan escaped him, but he only added, "Poor Anna! The scourge! O the terrible scourge of war!"
All the afternoon the sad mourner flitted restlessly about among the suffering and dying, speaking a gentle word to one, or administering a soothing draught to another—ever active, carrying consolation and comfort wherever she went. At last she missed the one in whom she had previously taken such a great interest—the young soldier with dark-brown hair and deep blue eyes. "Where is he?" she asked.
"He died last night," answered the kind old nurse.
"Died?" interrogated Anna, "I thought he was getting well."
"We thought he was, but God knew best!" and the kindly lips quivered that were so used to words of consolation.
"More sad hearts!" mused Anna as she became attracted by another scene not far away from where they were standing. A mother had just arrived and now sat by the bed of her dying son, who for the first time, it may be, failed to recognize the soft touch of that gentle hand, or respond to the familiar tones of a mother's loving voice. Too late! He would never look upon her again! The tempest-tossed soul forgot its own tribulations as she watched the anguish of the stricken parent who sat beside her boy with tearless eyes, but with cheek and brow as white as those she was so hopefully gazing upon, pleading for "one word, only one word!" But it came not. Anna turned away. "These scenes are too painful for me to-day," she said to the sympathizing nurse, whosoftly touched her arm to recall her. "Tell me where I can go and find peace!"
"I will, poor child, follow me." In the next ward a young man was lying, his face livid from the loss of blood, one limb entirely gone, the other partially, yet a smile shone ever upon those wan features, and his kindly greeting and words of cheerfulness were like rays of sunshine to all who came under their influences. "Mr. Page," said the nurse as she took his proffered hand, "here is a young lady who needs a few words of resignation and comfort dropped into her wounded heart, and you have always such a rich store on hand that I felt you would be willing to administer a few to one who needs them so much."
"I shall be obliged to give them second hand you know." How his pale face lighted as he said this, and extending his hand to Anna invited her to sit beside him. "It is hard to be afflicted," he said, "but you know they sometimes provide a very white robe for such as we." Then he spoke so calmly and soothingly as he inquired into her griefs, while he poured oil of peace into her lacerated heart until the pain ceased and she was soothed and comforted. "What was your brother's name?" he asked.
"Herbert Pierson."
"Herbert Pierson? You should not grieve for him! He had a noble soul. I knew him well, and when the surgeon told me yesterday that he was dead I thanked God for his release from suffering. Could he speak to you to-day he would say as I have, 'do not grieve for me!' How often I have heard him speak of his sister and mother, and pray for them too. Ah—there is comfort for you beyond my poor powers of giving! Theblessed sufferer who atoned for you and me will bestow it! Your brother was mine in heart; how I loved him!"
"O thank you; thank you!" sobbed Anna as she clasped his thin hand in hers! "His mother will bless and pray for you," she continued.
"And will not you?"
"I? I do not pray for myself! I wish to die."
"Then you will! God be praised!"
"I will see you again," she said rising, and catching one more glance of his calm, blue eyes she hurried away. After tea she retired to her room, much against the wishes of Mrs. Howard, who was urgent in her requests that Anna should visit her patient that night, but all to no avail. "Tell him," she said, "I will see him in the morning; Ican notgo to-night; O no, I can not!" and entering her seclusion she closed the door, much to the chagrin of the good lady, and seated herself to collect her thoughts.
Anna awoke the next morning with the half-dreamy consciousness of some impending evil or gloomy foreboding or trial she was expected to meet or avert. For a long time she lay on her bed balanced between a peaceful unconsciousness and the stern realities of duty that were rising before her, until at last the full burden of life rolled in upon her mind. Springing from her bed she dropped upon her knees beside it. For the first time in her life she discovered her utter helplessness; her inability to go alone! Before her were heavy loads she was expected to take up and carry along, but with this consciousness came also the invitations whispered to her shrinking heart, "come unto me"—"cast thy burden on the Lord and He will sustain thee." There in the solitude of that early morn she came close to Him who had promised strength sufficient in every time of trouble and perplexity. Firmer were her purposes when she arose from her knees; more willing was she to sacrifice all her dearest hopes at the feet of justice, if such stern duty was in store for her. As tears are sometimes the gentle dew that falls upon and refreshes the drooping flowers of life, so prayer is the concentration of the golden rays of light that color and beautify the re-animatedpetals, sending into the heart once filled with desolation and despair the freshness of a new life, and driving out the dying fumes that arise from the withered flowers where fond hopes lie buried. Softly came this gentle influence into the soul of her who under the shadows was kneeling and praying! Was it faith or love that was soothing her? Perhaps neither. The burdened spirit may not yet have drunk from the golden cup which the hand of mercy had proffered; but it had listened to the music of pity's hovering wings as she brooded near while gathering up the fragrance of the heart's petitions to bear away with the tears from the overflowing soul. Anna felt these refreshing influences, yet she knew not from whence they came. Her face bore the softening impress as she entered the breakfast room and inquired regarding the wounded colonel.
"He is a little more quiet this morning," replied Mrs. Howard; "but was very restless all night. I was up with him the greater part of the time." Anna seated herself at the table but could not eat.
"I think I will go over to the hospital for a few minutes," she said, rising; "tell him I will soon return and then will come to him."
"Why not go now, Miss Pierson? It is sad to witness his misery! Your absence, I am sure, is now his greatest affliction!"
"Indeed, I must go and get my own wounds dressed before I can attend to others!" This last remark was made partly to herself as she left the room, but enough fell on the ear of the listener to fill her with astonishment.
"What could the girl mean?" she asked herself over and over again, but received no satisfactory reply. In the meantime Anna was making her way to the hospital, and upon arriving proceeded immediately to the ward where she had, on the day before, talked with the one who had known and loved her brother. But he was not there. Even the cot had been removed, and on the floor where it had stood a large dark spot was seen. Sick at heart and without one word of inquiry she hurried into the next room where the kind old nurse could, she was sure, tell her all.
"Yes, dear, these things are dreadful for us to bear," was the reply to her visitor's earnest questionings; "but could you have seen his face as his life rapidly ebbed away you would have been satisfied that sometimes 'it is Christ to live, but to die is gain.' What you saw yesterday was no comparison to it; so holy; so joyous! It was about four this morning they called me, but so rapid was his going that I only caught a glimpse of the glory that shone through as the gate to the 'city' opened for him!"
"Yet it seems so hard to me just now that he must die," interposed Anna as she looked dreamily out over the long rows of cots where wounded men were lying. "Was it because my poor heart reached out after him in its sorest need? Must all be taken?" She had said this musingly, but the nurse heard it and her face shone with interest. "Forgive me," she added quickly, perceiving the look that was fastened upon her, "I was bewildered for a moment."
"There is a Comforter, and it was He that gave him his powers of consolation! You know he saidyesterday that he would be obliged to bestow only second hand what he had received."
"Yes, I remember, but tell me more of him."
"It is the story of many others, yet it came all unexpectedly, as it has often done. It was the giving way of the main artery that had been severed so near the body that there was no chance for again securing it. It was not five minutes after he discovered his position before he was quietly sleeping! Such a death has no sadness in it my dear girl, for it was only stepping out of pain and suffering into peace and rejoicing!"
"Thank you," said Anna as she turned away, for kind words were needed elsewhere. Alone in her room again she gave full vent to her feelings. "I am ready now," she thought as she bathed her face that her swollen lids might not grieve him, and prepared to fulfill her promise. It was with trembling steps, however, that she entered the room where George St. Clair was lying. He was alone and apparently asleep as she approached the bedside and looked down into his face so calm in its repose; so gentle in its outline; almost feminine it appeared to her in its tenderness. Yet she had seen it when it was not as it was now. How different! She placed her hand on his forehead that he might awake before the dark thoughts should come back to her. He opened his eyes and looked full into hers! A deep flush overspread his face, yet not a muscle moved or a word escaped his lips. "George, will you not speak to me?" she asked at last.
"Yes, Anna; but why have you absented yourself so long? Have you desired to revenge your brother's blood upon me? Upon my poor head,Anna? Are you so cruel? Tell me that you lay not that sin at my door; or use the dagger for my more immediate relief! Does this shock you? Am I the one who is the most cruel after all?"
Anna sank down upon a chair near by and buried her face in the pillow. Both were silent for a long time; at length Mrs. Howard entering aroused her.
"You must not disturb my patient, you know," she said with an attempt at pleasantry, for she was happy to see Anna at last where she thought she ought to be. "You are to cheer him up, for he seems quite low spirited to-day."
"We shall, no doubt, do very well," replied St. Clair, impatiently; and the kind-hearted lady after administering the medicine, left the room.
"Anna, will you move your chair a little this way that I may see your face? I want to talk candidly with you." She obeyed. He looked at her for a moment, but there was more of sorrow than scrutiny in his gaze. At last he said, "Mrs. Howard tells me you are going home."
"Yes, I must go; my mother will want all that is left of him whom she has so dearly loved! The staff is broken upon which she expected to lean in her declining years. It is a hard task, but I have no power to shrink from it!"
"Have you made all of your calculations to do so?"
"Not wholly. I shall wait for your father whom I am expecting here to-morrow in company with Ellen."
"Ellen? Is she coming? Then you will not return?"
"No!" This was spoken with a tremulous voice, and she knew his eyes were fixed intently upon her. "You will not need me," she continued, after a moment's pause; "your sister Ellen can do all it would have been in my power to perform, and my mother will be very lonely and sad without me."
"You did not think Ellen was so efficient a few days ago, Anna. How changed you are! Yes, I think I understand you; but can you not be mistaken? Look at my hands, dear girl, are there any dark stains upon them? Think of my prostrate form; is he the less guilty who spilled my blood because this life did not escape through the wound? Blood for blood, Anna, and justice is satisfied! Are you sterner than that insatiate power?"
Tears flooded her eyes and she bowed her head to conceal them. Where now was the strength she had expected would sustain her through this trying ordeal? O how weak she seemed! How flitting the sunshine that had but a short time before gilded her darkness!
"Anna," said her companion, "your heart is pleading for me! It is not your better judgment that is sitting at my tribunal at this moment; I know it all! I read it months ago as you stood before me so cold and stern when you first beheld my uniform, and it has followed you ever since. You loved me then and you cannot hate me now! Look up, Anna, and tell me if my words are not true?" She obeyed.
"They are true! I did love you, and God knows how hard it would be to tear that love from my heart! But you will wait; the storm has burst inupon my soul. When the fury is past and the clouds are broken, in the calm you shall read what now is so bleared and illegible! George, you can never know the depths of sadness that is permeating my every hope and aspiration! If you knew the agony of the last few hours, that has torn me like an evil spirit, you would pity me!"
"I do pity you, Anna; and will trouble you no longer lest my words should prove an infliction rather than a panacea, and I will, as you have requested, bide patiently your time." The young lady arose and stood before him.
"Good-bye, George, make haste to recover," she said without emotion; "your mother pines for you and many hearts will rejoice when you are well again." He was looking steadily at her while she spoke, and their eyes met. Her lips quivered, but quickly bowing her head she pressed a kiss upon his brow and darted from the room.
Early the next morning after a restless, sleepless night, Anna prepared herself for another visit to the young lady who had so tenderly nursed her brother during his days of suffering and death. She did so long to look again into those deep, dark eyes, from which had beamed so much sympathy, and to ask many questions which she had omitted at their former interviews. It was a damp, chill morning, for the sun was hiding behind dense leaden clouds and a thick fog had settled down upon the city. However, she liked all this, for nature was in her most congenial mood with such frowns upon her face, and so she hurried on. She received a warm greeting from the beautiful nurse, whom she noticed was much paler than when shesaw her last, and was at the moment apparently unusually agitated. Not far from her two ladies richly, but plainly attired, were standing conversing in low, soothing tones with a sick soldier.
"Do you know those ladies?" she asked eagerly as she clasped the hand of her visitor.
"No, although I have caught a glimpse of their dresses several times in the other wards during the last few days," replied Anna, stepping back a little that she might look into their faces. But in vain. "I have heard one of them spoken of as a very wealthy English lady who was at the south, but was compelled to come north on account of her anti-war principles; but have thought very little about them."
"I must see that face again!" said the nurse, musingly. "See how persistently they keep their backs toward me! They have been here an hour and seem in no hurry to go, yet it is impossible for me to catch the eye again of that one wearing the gray silk. I have seen her before, Miss Pierson; I am sure of it!" A call from one of the patients interrupted the conversation. Anna moved slowly down the apartment to intercept, and if possible to engage them in conversation, while her friend could have the privilege she so ardently coveted. She was avoided, however, and the visitors soon passed out into the open air.
"Do tell me what it was that came over you so suddenly with sufficient power to shake your dry bones so effectually, and take all of the brass out of your face?" inquired one of the worthies when once again clear of searching eyes.
"Do not jest!" entreated her companion. "Matters are becoming rather serious to me, as you willacknowledge when I tell you that the young nurse in whom you seemed so much interested is my own daughter!"
"Your daughter! I do not wonder that you shook in your boots! Do you suppose that she recognized you?"
"I feel sure of it, for her cheek paled as she caught the glance of my eye, and I felt all the time we were there that she was watching me!"
"How do you suppose she came here? You told me she was with an aunt in New Orleans!"
"So she was, the idiot!" was the answering exclamation. "I have no patience with her! She has been my tormentor for years! It was not enough for her to throw away all of my cherished plans, depriving me of home and fortune, but now she must appear to add the crowning act to my discomfiture!"
"Would you have me believe all this of one who is so mild and gentle, with eyes as calm—"
"Do not mention those eyes! They were her father's, and she is like him! Yet he was good! I do not think I should be where I am to-day if he had lived! I have been tumbling for years—yes, years! And what a depth I have fallen!" The speaker endeavored to smile, but the attempt died upon her pallid lips. "Let us hasten back to the city," she continued, seeing her companion showed no desire to speak: "I must have time to think!"
They walked on a short distance without another word, and then her companion said, abruptly: "You have not told me why, in your opinion, she is here? Was she always remarkable for tenderness and benevolence? It seems tome that the mother-power was deficient in regard to the little matter of early teaching in the science of patriotism!"
"Your tones are annoying, but I will satisfy your plausible curiosity in a measure! It was not 'tenderness or benevolence' that has drawn her thither, but, in my opinion, an old love affair gotten up while in Philadelphia at school when yet a child. She was supposed to be an heiress, of course, and was wheedled into accepting the proffers of undying adoration from a scheming fortune-hunter! It did not take me long to end the affair after I learned of it, I can tell you; but it spoiled her! It was then that she laid the corner stone of the sepulcher which she has been rearing over me, and now, I suppose, will deliberately pull down about my ears!"
"The sea does look a little squally, I confess," replied her companion sarcastically.
"I own it does!"
"Well, as I am aboard of your ship it may be well for me to be looking out for breakers ahead. And yet I cannot understand how that 'love affair' of which you have told me could affect her now!"
"Well, I do! Without doubt she hopes to find him; but it does not matter what are her ambitions she is here much against my wishes and happiness!"
Happiness! Ah, where can the transgressor find peace or rest? "Who is wise shall understand these things; prudent and he shall know them, for the ways of the Lord are right and the just shall walk in them, but the transgressors shall fall therein."
Anna might have joined in the confusion and agitation of her friend had she caught a look as she desired from the keen, black eyes which had so troubled her in former days. But, strange as it may seem, those penetrating orbs failed to recognize in her whom they tried to avoid the sweet singer of "Cathesdra." The "nobody" whom her cousin persisted in raising out of her sphere had dropped from her mind. Neither had Anna ever met the daughter of Mrs. Belmont during her stay in the home of the St. Clair's, and could not, therefore, suspect that the meek, gentle nurse who had so won her heart was the one of whom she had so often heard. She had been told by Ellen of her brother's attachment and of their final separation, and he, only two mornings since, had substantiated her statement with the assurance that his imaginary love had been proved to himself to be only a fostered brotherly affection for his pretty cousin. They looked into each other's faces and smiled at the parting, little thinking how much of mystery was concealed from view.
"If one could only be seen in the light that falls upon them from the eternal brightness what a transfiguration it would work! There are estrangements and alienations," says some one, "that arise from ignorance of one another that divide families into almost as distinct and separate lives as rooms in the house they occupy."
"Hands to work and hearts to God," once said Emerson, while Tennyson adds: "In this windy world what's up is faith, what's down is heresy!" Anna was nervous and restless as she thought over these things, and all of the next night lay tossing upon her bed, vainly endeavoring to woo the gentle slumbers that would not come to her. It seemed so sad now that it was all over, and itwasstrange that George St. Clair should have dismissed her so coldly! It was not her fault that she could not dispel this "phantom" as he called it; yet hepitiedher! Was this the panacea he strove so hard to apply to her wounded soul? True, she asked him for it, yet pride rebelled at its application! Pity! The long, weary hours were filled with exciting whispers, and ever and anon the chilling words, "I will trouble you no longer," fell like hard, cold pebbles into her sensitive soul. At last summoning all her fortitude she congratulated herself that on the morrow Mrs. St. Clair and Ellen would arrive. Then she could return home, where silently and alone she would dig a grave in some lonely recess of her stricken heart and bury her two great sorrows side by side! To-morrow! The clock struck five and the sound of feet were heard below. The night had passed!She arose from her bed and opened the window. One star yet faintly glimmered just above the eastern horizon, up which the first morning beams were slowly creeping. Calmly and peacefully it looked into the troubled upturned face so full of sorrow and flushed with weeping, until Anna thought that in its pensive gaze there was such pity as the angels might bestow upon their weary earth-born sisters. Then her thoughts wandered away to those who would be weary no more; whose foot-prints would never more be seen along the dusty highway of life, for they were resting now, their journeys over, their spirits freed from their crumbling prison-houses! At rest! The pale tranquil light of the lonely star grew paler and more feeble as she continued to gaze upon it, for a new day was approaching, and in the glory of its brightness the tiny light was to be swallowed up. Fading, changing, everywhere! How sad a lesson is life! How rugged and thorny the way through it! "To look up is faith," repeated Anna again; "Thou wilt show me the path of life; in Thy presence is fullness of joy; at Thy right hand there are pleasures forevermore! Hush!" It was not her own voice to which she was listening, but the echoing of her poor pleading heart which had suddenly remembered that to look down where all the dreary shadows were clustered was "heresy." The day was before her heavily laden with duties. Why should she grope under the clouds where were doubts and unbeliefs? By and by it may be she too would rest! A step along the hall startled her. It was that of the black servant leaving his master's room. "How faithful he has been," she thought, "while I have only brought discomfortswhere I had so desired to bring relief." It was over now; her dream of hope, of love, of life! All was over; yet her hand still clasped the "golden bowl," and the "silver cord" was not broken! There was sweet water still in the fountain, although at times it might seem bitter to the taste.
She was standing by the mirror arranging the braids of her dark hair as these reflections were passing through her mind. "How changed I am," she continued, "not only in mind but in face! Perplexities and disappointments are making sad havoc with my good looks! I must away from this," and after preparing herself for a walk she hastened to the hospital. She filled the moments of the laggard morning full of untiring work by the side of the young nurse who flitted among the cots where anxious, loving eyes watched for her coming and grew dim as she disappeared from their sight. Still her thoughts were roving and regrets came to disturb her as she remembered that no more could she place the cup of cold water to fevered lips, or with her words soothe troubled minds. She was going home to bury her dead, while so many were to remain to be buried by stranger hands! The voice of the nurse recalled her.
"There was a big skirmish down the river last night and some of our officers were disabled and are to be brought here to-day, we are informed by telegram!" and she walked on where an upraised hand was beckoning.
"Who knows but my poor brother is one of the fallen?" Anna mused as she proceeded towards her temporary home.
It was nearly dinner-time and she must not let the whole day pass without visiting the lonely one under her own roof. True, he had not invited her to come again at the close of their last interview, but he had hinted a wish that she should read the morning papers to him on her return, Mrs. Howard had said. She had hoped to escape this, but she was calmer now. Herbert was gone; men might be falling on the battle field any day! It was the hand of war, not of individuals, that was slaying the mothers' and sisters' loved ones all over the land! Poor heart! The tidal wave was receding, but the waters underneath were black and unfathomable!
"He is better, I think," Mrs. Howard went on to say, "and in a few days, no doubt, will be able to sit up in an easy chair part of the time. He asked a while ago if you had returned from the hospital, and looked, as he always does, a little out of patience that you should devote so much of your time to others."
Anna was not listening as her hostess bustled about the table prattling in an unusual manner, as it was evident that she was probing with her feminine curiosity deeper than had been her wont, and it seemed the duty of her victim to push the intruding hand away.
"But you will go to him?" was the abrupt query at last.
"It is my intention," and Anna passed into the hall. The door of the sick man's chamber was open, and before she had reached the upper landing she heard her name called.
"I want to see you Anna. Please bring the morning papers, will you?"
She could not resist the pleading of the voice, and, besides, she had expected to see him again; but how could she read to him.
"I was intending to brush away a little of the dust of morning labor before coming to you," she remarked with a smile as she entered and took a seat beside the bed.
"Do a better thing, Anna, and brush away the dust from my hopes and out of my life! Would not that be a more merciful act?"
"Can I do all that, George?" and she laid her hand soothingly upon his white forehead.
"You ought to be able to do so, since it was your hands scattered it."
There was a long silence.
"Is it your purpose to go home and leave me here with your bloody spectre to haunt and distract me? Do I deserve such punishment? Should loyalty to my native land be crowned with such terrible thorns? You have confessed, Anna, that a few months ago you loved me, is that most holy attribute so easily uprooted? If so, then I have been mistaken in woman's heart?" He was looking in her face, that was thinner and, it may be, paler than he had ever seen it, and his manly nature came to the rescue. "Forgive me, Anna, I will not be so cruel! There is somewhere a God who will make all right in His own good time, as Old Auntie would say; and last night as Toby lay snoring on the lounge yonder, I thought it all over. Yes, there is a God; and it may be He is at work in this great war problem, and when the final result is summed up, we shall be glad that the storm passed this way, because of the happy issues. Who knows? But, dear girl, assure meof my guiltlessness in creating the blast, or the terrible lightning that is desolating so many hearts and homes! Will you?"
She raised her eyes to his face, and a smile broke over her own. "How low are the mighty fallen!" and a low, rippling laugh mingled itself with her words. "Did you ever imagine that I thought you such a great man, so strong and powerful?"
"My own Anna!" he exclaimed, taking her hand passionately in his. "You are not going to leave me comfortless, but will wipe away the mold from hopes, and thus brighten up the future by letting the sunshine in upon them again." He drew the beaming face down to his own and their lips sealed the contract of mutual love and forgiveness.
"I did not mean to grieve you," she said at last, "but the blow was a heavy one, and all things seemed to combine their powers to keep my 'phantom' in active existence, but they are gone now."
"Tell me that no more shall this murderous spectre stand between us. This terrible war may have crippled me for life; my home and fortune be taken from me through its ravages; but if you love and trust me, I shall, notwithstanding all, be the happiest of men."
"Is the wound then, so very bad."
"The surgeon has more than hinted that my days of soldiering are over, but was that all you heard of my long speech, made especially for your ear?" he laughed. "You would not care to unite your destinies with a cripple, and how would it be if the fortune was also gone? O, Anna!"
"Do not, George. I had not thought of all that, my mind is not capable of taking such fanciful leaps; I was only thinking how sad all this would be for one like you. But I could not be sorry if assured that you would fight no more."
"Even though a broken back was my preventive?"
"The glimpses that come to us at this moment from the overshadowed future are too bright to be flecked with such dark presentiments; I cannot believe them. But there is Mrs. Howard's steps, on the stairs. How kind she has been, and what a miserable nurse I have proven myself."
"Oh pshaw! I have improved more during the last half hour, under your fostering care, than I should have done in three weeks of her nursing. But you must not go yet or there will be great danger of a serious relapse! I will send the good soul to Jericho as soon as I have swallowed her potion, for I have much I want to say while the opportunity is ours."
"I think it will be necessary for you to begin again on these fever drops, as I see your cheeks are quite red this afternoon," carelessly remarked the good lady, as she placed the spoon to his lips. There was a roguish twinkle in her eye, however, which Anna did not fail to perceive.
"Hang the fever drops!" exclaimed the patient; "I am ever so much better, and am pondering the propriety of going home with Miss Pierson to-morrow."
The kind lady shook with suppressed mirth as she went from the room, for her keen eyes had looked deeper than ever before.
In the evening Ellen and her father arrived. It had been a weary morning to Anna, for she had waited their coming with an anxious heart, but the sky was clear now and she returned their greetings with fervor, wearing her great grief, it was true, but the joys of the previous hours had so covered it that the dear ones were astonished to find her bright beneath the shadow of sorrow.
"My poor son," exclaimed Mr. St. Clair, as the first greetings were over. "Yes, Anna; show us the way to him." She obeyed, and as they were ascending the stairs, the father remarked, "I have no doubt we shall receive a favorable report of your nursing, for I am convinced by the pallor of your cheeks that there have been sad hours of watching and anxiety."
"How I shrink from taking your place," interrupted the sister. "Poor George! He will readily perceive the difference, I fear."
Anna's heart sank within her as she listened to the words of her companions, who were all unconscious of the wounds they were probing. Ellen must not know it; and then she was so soon to leave him! This would be harder now, but he was to fight no more and they might yet be happy! It was a grief to her that she had ever neglected him and brought sorrow instead of joy into his hours of suffering. She opened the door of the sick man's chamber, and as the father and sister passed in reclosed it and retired to her own room. More than one reason prompted her to do this, yet they must know in time that a great joy had been amid her throes of bereavement. She would not have them grieved by her seeming idiosyncrasies. They might blame her for apparent neglect; and O if ithad not been! Still he had not suffered as had she; her heart assured her of this, and it pressed the thought as a consolation over the bleeding fissure as the wounded bird attempts to hide its ebbing life's blood beneath its fluttering wing! But it was over, and now the phantom had been driven, ah whither? Would it ever haunt her again? He had said: "There is a God somewhere who will make it all right in His own good time," and she would wait.
Tea was ready and the three sat down together, Mr. St. Clair and Ellen to satisfy a sharpened appetite after a long and tiresome journey, and Anna to do the honors of the table after their home style in the north.
"George is looking so much better than I had hoped to find him," said the father. "I think I shall be obliged to bless you Miss Anna for his rapid improvement. It has been so kind in you to think of others, although you were so heavily burdened with your own bitter sorrow! What a debt of gratitude you and yours are heaping upon us!" he continued, musingly. "But war must always bear its 'apples of ashes' and God only knows where the ax should be laid!"
There were tears in Anna's eyes, for the fountain of grief had been for so many days open that the liquid drops flowed now almost unconsciously when the angel of pity stirred the bitter waters. Ellen saw them and the dew-drops of sympathy moistened her own dark ones. "It would be so hard to lose a brother," she thought. "How glad she was that George was better!"
"You must go with us," said Ellen as they arose from the table and went out into the hall."You must begin to initiate me in your skill of hygiene; beside, George inquired for you. I see how it will be, you are to be sadly missed when only my poor inexperienced hands are brought into service!" She noticed the agitation of her companion, and placing an arm affectionately around her said, soothingly: "You know my heart, dear girl, and that it is full of sympathy, but my tongue is a miserable medium with which to communicate it to another! Let it be sufficient that I can feel that you are sure of this and will never doubt me!"