ot hired to fight our battles; and the
least the women of the land can do is to nurse them when sick or wounded."

She laid her hand gently on his whitening hair, and added pleadingly--

"Do not oppose me, Uncle Eric. I want your sanction in all that I do. There
are only two of us left; go with me as my adviser--protector. I could not
be happy if you were not with me."

His eyes filled instantly, and drawing her close to him, he exclaimed
tremulously--

"My dear Irene! there is nothing I would not do to make you happy. Happy I
fear you never will be. Ah! don't smile and contradict me; I know the
difference between happiness and resignation. Patience, uncomplaining
endurance, never yet stole the garments of joy. I will go with you to
Virginia, or anywhere else that you wish."

"Thank you, Uncle Eric. I will try to make you forget the comforts of home,
and give you no reason to regret that you sacrificed your wishes and
judgment to mine. I must not keep you up any later."

The army of the Potomac had fallen back to Yorktown when Irene reached
Richmond; and the preparations which were being made for the reception of
the wounded gave melancholy premonition of impending battles.

Dr. Arnold had been entrusted with the supervision of several hospitals,
but gave special attention to one established with the funds contributed by
the citizens of W----, and thither Irene repaired on the day of her
arrival.

In reply to her inquiries, she was directed to a small room, and found the
physician seated at a table examining a bundle of papers. He saw only a
form darkening the doorway, and, without looking up, called out gruffly--

"Well, what is it? What do you want?"

"A word of welcome."

He sprang to his feet instantly, holding out both hands.

"Dear child! Queen! God bless you! How are you? Pale as a cloud, and thin
as a shadow. Sit down here by me. Where is Eric?"

"He was much fatigued, and I left him at the hotel."

"You have been ill a long time, Irene, and have kept it from me. That was
not right; you should have been honest in your letters. A pretty figure you
will cut nursing sick folks! Work in my sight, indeed! If you say work to
me again, I will clap you into a lunatic asylum and keep you there till the
war is over. Turn your face to the light."

"I am well enough in body; it is my mind only that is ill at ease; my heart
only that is sick--sorely sick. Here I shall find employment, and, I trust,
partial f