ide of
one, the helplessness of the other, kept him hovering alone in the
twilight a great sin has brought to overshadow the whole land.

"You shall stay, then; for I would far rather have you than any lazy
Jack. But are you well and strong enough?"

"I guess I'll do, Ma'am."

He spoke with a passive sort of acquiescence,--as if it did not much
matter, if he were not able, and no one would particularly rejoice, if
he were.

"Yes, I think you will. By what name shall I call you?"

"Bob, Ma'am."

Every woman has her pet whim; one of mine was to teach the men
self-respect by treating them respectfully. Tom, Dick, and Harry would
pass, when lads rejoiced in those familiar abbreviations; but to
address men often old enough to be my father in that style did not suit
my old-fashioned ideas of propriety. This "Bob" would never do; I
should have found it as easy to call the chaplain "Gus" as my
tragical-looking contraband by a title so strongly associated with the
tail of a kite.

"What is your other name?" I asked. "I like to call my attendants by
their last names rather than by their first."

"I've got no other, Ma'am; we have our masters' names, or do without.
Mine's dead, and I won't have anything of his about me."

"Well, I'll call you Robert, then, and you may fill this pitcher for
me, if you will be so kind."

He went; but, through all the tame, obedience years of servitude had
taught him, I could see that the proud spirit his father gave him was
not yet subdued, for the look and gesture with which he repudiated his
master's name were a more effective declaration of independence than
any Fourth-of-July orator could have prepared.

We spent a curious week together. Robert seldom left his room, except
upon my errands; and I was a prisoner all day, often all night, by the
bedside of the Rebel. The fever burned itself rapidly away, for there
seemed little vitality to feed it in the feeble frame of this old young
man, whose life had been none of the most righteous, judging from the
revelations made by his unconscious lips; since more than once Robert
authoritatively silenced him, when my gentler bushings were of no
avail, and blasphemous wanderings or ribald camp-songs made my cheeks
burn and Robert's face assume an aspect of disgust. The captain was a
gentleman in the world's eye, but the contraband was the gentleman in
mine;--I was a fanatic, and that accounts for such depravity of taste,
I hope. I neve