assed out of sight in the corridor
above, she stealthily followed. All the doors of the rooms in the
third story were closed, but through an open transom came the sound of
voices. Listening eagerly, she heard her mamma speaking, and in reply
a voice which set her heart beating wildly and made her dizzy with
surprise. In a moment she was vainly striving to open the locked door,
screaming loudly, "Papa! oh, papa!" Instantly the door was opened, and
she found herself dragged inside the room, her grandma's hand placed
closely over her mouth, while her mother, in a hoarse whisper, said,
"Nelly, for _pity's sake hush, no one must know_." Gazing about her
with wildly-distended eyes, the frightened girl beheld, reclining in
an easy-chair by the bedside, her dear papa, but, oh, so pale, so
changed. A small table drawn closely to his side so as to project over
the arm of the chair held a large pillow covered with oil-cloth, upon
this lay one arm, which, with the shoulder, was entirely bare; just
under the collar-bone appeared a frightful wound, over which Mrs. Grey
was preparing to lay a linen cloth wet with cool water. Nelly gasped
for breath and turned very white, but when her papa held out his well
hand towards her with the old sweet smile she so well remembered, she
ran to his side and nestled there, still trembling and sobbing, for
she had been frightened, first by the rough treatment of her grandma,
and yet more by the changed appearance of the dearly-loved father,
who, as it seemed to her, must be dying. As further concealment was
useless, Nelly was taken into the confidence of the ladies, who,
however, seemed almost in despair lest the child in some thoughtless
manner should betray the _secret so anxiously guarded_.

A short time before the visit to the farm a dreadful battle had been
fought in Virginia, not many miles from the State-line, near which
stood the house of Nelly's grandma. It so happened that the regiment
to which Mr. Grey belonged had participated in the fight, and at the
conclusion he found himself badly wounded and a prisoner. Having been
ill previously, the wounded soldier was unable to be marched off with
other prisoners, but was left, as all supposed, to die. The tide of
battle rolled on, leaving the field where the fight began strewn with
the dying and the dead. A blazing sun poured its intolerable light and
heat upon the upturned faces and defenceless heads of hundreds of
suffering, dying men, adding