uld not think of
again undergoing the wear and tear of separation. I promised to let him
know my decision early the next morning; I think I should have gone with
him, but that evening we were telegraphed to return to Washington--my
father had been stricken down by apoplexy; and my brother and I went
home in the night train. Edward knew the reason, for he read my father's
death in the morning's newspaper.

Three weeks afterward I had a letter from Edward Mayne by flag of truce;
that was the week before Fredericksburg; and then the agony again began.
It did not last very long. In the early spring came Chancellorsville,
and there Edward was slightly wounded and taken prisoner; he was removed
to the hospital at Point Lookout; his aunt went to nurse him, but I did
not go; he was doing very well, and I thought it was wiser not. And one
day in May--ah! that day!--I was looking out of my window, and I see now
the blue sky, the little white clouds, the roses, and the ivied wall
that I saw when my mother came in and said Mrs. Daingerfield had come to
take me to Edward, who was very ill and anxious to see me. I remember
how the blood seemed to sink away from my heart, and for a moment I
thought I was going to die; but in another moment I knew that I should
live. I was eager and excited, and not unhappy, from that time until the
end was at hand.

I had never been in a hospital before, and there was a long ward full of
men, who all looked to me as if they were dying, through which I passed
to reach the room in which Edward Mayne lay alone. He heard me coming,
and, as I opened the door, he raised himself in bed and put out his hand
to me....

That night the dreadful pain left him, and his aunt said he seemed
brighter and more hopeful; but when the surgeon saw him in the morning,
he shook his head. When the sun set, Edward knew that he should never
again see its evening glories. Into that dark, still room came a greater
than Solomon, and as the dread shadow of his wings fell on my life, I
hushed my prayers and tears. We sat and watched and waited; and there
came back a feeble strength into the worn frame, and he told us what he
wished. He said that perhaps he had been wrong, but he had thought
himself right; at least, he had given his life for his faith, and soon,
soon he would know all. Then he asked them to leave him alone with me
for a little while, and when they came back into the room, nothing
remained of him but the cast-off