life, now perhaps, for the
first time since he had had a bullet driven through his body. It had
come to pass that everything, almost everything, was done for him by
the hands of Edith. And yet Ada was willing to do everything that was
required; but she declared always that what she did was of no avail.
"Unless you take it to him, you know he won't eat it," she would
still say. No doubt this was absurd, because the sick man's appetite
was very good, considering that a hole had been made from his front
to his back within the last month. It was still September, the
weather was as warm as summer, and he insisted on lying out in the
garden with his rugs around him, and enjoying the service of all his
slaves. But among his slaves Edith was the one whom the other slaves
found it most difficult to understand.

"I will go on," she said to her father, "and do everything for him
while he is an invalid. But, when he is well enough to be moved,
either he or I must go out of this."

Her father simply said that he did not understand it; but then he was
one of the other slaves.

"Edith," said the Captain, one day, speaking from his rugs on the
bank upon the lawn, "just say that one word, 'I yield.' It will have
to be said sooner or later."

"I will not say it, Captain Clayton," said Edith with a firm voice.

"So you have gone back to the Captain," said he.

"I will go back further than that, if you continue to annoy me. It
shall be nothing but plain 'sir,' as hard as you please. You might as
well let go my hand; you know that I do not take it away violently,
because of your wound."

"I know--I know--I know that a girl's hand is the sweetest thing in
all creation if she likes you, and leaves it with you willingly."
Then there was a little pull, but it was only very little.

"Of course, I don't want to hurt you," said Edith.

"And, therefore, it feels as though you loved me. Of course it does.
Your hand says one thing and your voice another. Which way does your
heart go?"

"Right against you," said Edith. But she could not help blushing at
the lie as she told it. "My conscience is altogether against you, and
I advise you to attend more to that than to anything else." But still
he held her hand, and still she let him hold it.

At that moment Hunter appeared upon the scene, and Edith regained
her hand. But had the Captain held the hand, Hunter would not have
seen it. Hunter was full of his own news; and, as he told it, very