ry stood talking, each with an arm
about the other's waist.

CHAPTER LXI

PEACE.

It came with tears. But, ah! it lifted such an awful load from the
hearts even of those who loved the lost cause. Husbands snatched
their wives once more to their bosoms, and the dear, brave, swarthy,
rough-bearded, gray-jacketed boys were caught again in the wild arms
of mothers and sisters. Everywhere there was glad, tearful kissing.
Everywhere? Alas for the silent lips that remained unkissed, and the
arms that remained empty! And alas for those to whom peace came too
suddenly and too soon! Poor Narcisse!

His salary still continues. So does his aunt.

The Ristofalos came back all together. How delighted Mrs. Colonel
Ristofalo--I say Mrs. _Colonel_ Ristofalo--was to see Mary! And how
impossible it was, when they sat down together for a long talk, to avoid
every moment coming back to the one subject of "him."

"Yes, ye see, there bees thim as is _called_ col-o-nels, whin in fact
they bees only _liftinent_ col-o-nels. Yes. But it's not so wid him. And
he's no different from the plain Raphael Ristofalah of eight year
ago--the same perfict gintleman that he was when he sold b'iled eggs!"

And the colonel's "lady" smiled a gay triumph that gave Mary a new
affection for her.

Sister Jane bowed to the rod of an inscrutable Providence. She could not
understand how the Confederacy could fail, and justice still be justice;
so, without understanding, she left it all to Heaven, and clung to
her faith. Her brother-in-law never recovered his fortunes nor his
sweetness. He could not bend his neck to the conqueror's yoke; he went
in search of liberty to Brazil--or was it Honduras? Little matter which,
now, for he died there, both he and his wife, just as their faces were
turning again homeward, and it was dawning upon them once more that
there is no land like Dixie in all the wide world over.

The little rector--thanks, he says, to the skill of Dr.
Sevier!--recovered perfectly the use of his mangled foot, so that he
even loves long walks. I was out walking with him one sunset hour in the
autumn of--if I remember aright--1870, when whom should we spy but our
good Kate Ristofalo, out driving in her family carriage? The cherubs
were beside her,--strong, handsome boys. Mike held the reins; he was but
thirteen, but he looked full three years better than that, and had
evidently employed the best tailor in St. Charles street to fit his
rath