Part 23 (2/2)
”I did not perceive it.”
”Then your look was not very penetrating. I hope all of my friends will be equally considerate.”
”Then you did feel a little uncomfortable?”
”Only for a moment. I might, of course, make a misstep that would slightly disarrange my mask, and it would, as you know, be uncomfortable to have curious eyes peering beneath it, and the possibility, at times, causes a little unpleasantness.” A smile played feebly across the face of the speaker, which soon died away, leaving cheek and brow a shade paler than before. No doubt her soul had taken another peep through the rifted curtain that was shutting out her future, and beheld something that must have appalled her. And what wonder? ”The way of the transgressor is hard.”
”I have been thinking,” continued the other lady, after a long pause, ”that we must follow the n.o.ble example of the patriotic ladies of Was.h.i.+ngton and visit the hospitals. We might do great good there. Kindly hearts and willing hands will, without doubt, be in great demand on the present occasion. As for me, I am anxious to be about the work,” and she turned to the window.
”A grand thought, and shows conclusively that you have remarkable diplomatic powers, altogether unlooked for in our s.e.x. I shall be ready to follow your lead in such a n.o.ble suggestion at our earliest convenience; but it will never do to go empty-handed. The poor fellows will need many things. If we are to be ministering angels, you know, we must take the oil and wine.”
How different from all this were the feelings and aspirations of the little group gathered together in the widow's cottage on the banks of the grand old Hudson. Three days after the above conversation in Was.h.i.+ngton, Anna Pierson returned from the village post-office, as was her custom, bearing in her hand several papers, which were distributed as usual.
”No letters, Mother,” was the prompt reply to the anxious, inquiring look as she entered. ”It is not time, unless they were written immediately, and we should not expect that.”
Her words were cheerful, for she had carefully prepared them during her walk; but her heart was troubled with fearful apprehensions, and she dared not consult one of those silent messengers that were clasped so tightly in her hand until she had entered her own room and seated herself by the window. Then she cast her eyes over the long columns: ”The Great Battle! From our own Correspondent.” Why did she not read further? She had longed all day for that very article, and now that it was before her, her eyes turned towards the clouds in the west as though her thoughts were all centered within their shadowy folds. Ah, there are many hearts to-day wherein these sad memories still linger. _They_ could tell why Anna Pierson did not read, why she shrank from the terrible revelations that might be before her. There were many names included in the correspondent's letter over which her eyes hurriedly ran.
”Thank G.o.d!” Fell from her lips as she reached the end of the list without seeing a familiar name; but below was a P. S.:
”I have just learned that Col. St. Clair of the Confederate army has been brought into our lines dangerously wounded.”
The paper dropped upon the floor beside her as she sat silent and motionless among the falling shadows, until a timid rap on the door startled her. In a moment Ellen entered, and without a word threw herself at Anna's feet, and, hiding her face in her companion's dress, wept aloud. An arm stole softly about her neck and a hand smoothed caressingly the dark braids of her hair.
”Don't, O don't, dear Ellen,” she said; ”let us talk together. I have been a full half-hour coming to a conclusion regarding my duty in this terrible crisis. Listen, now, while I tell you my determination.” These words of love were so gentle and kind, and her voice so full of sympathy, that Ellen soon found herself soothed and comforted under their tender influences.
”Yes, Anna, do tell me, for I was never at such a loss regarding my own duty as now, and perhaps your decision may aid me.”
”Perhaps it will. Well, it is this: I am going to him. He will need tender care, and I will bestow it. You, dear girl, must take my place here; will you?”
”Yes, Anna, but--”
”No matter; you know I was to give you my matured decision, so do not imagine that it is possible for me to waver.”
”Your mother, Anna; what will she say?”
”She will not hinder me. But I shall expect you to be a daughter to her as well as to your own parents. All will need you to cheer them during my absence. I shall place them in your care with the full faith that all will be well.”
”I cannot understand you, Anna. I came here faint and trembling at the very thought of his sufferings, to find you all ready to go to his relief, willing to sacrifice home for only a friend, while I, his sister, had not supposed such a thing possible.”
”Only a friend.” Was this true? Could sympathy alone have compelled such a sacrifice? Memories of other days came stealing in upon her senses like sweet odors from a far-off land, but she thrust them aside, and kissing the upturned face before her, said, smilingly:
”Never mind, dear; perhaps you will know me better some day. You are, however, mistaken in thinking me all ready, for I shall be obliged to wait until Monday to finish my preparations. I shall gather a few luxuries with many little things that I feel I shall require; so let us go to work and banish present sorrow with busy hands.”
True to her purpose, in three days Anna emerged from her baptism of benedictions and farewells, and, laden with endearing messages and tokens of love for the suffering one, stepped on board the ”Vanderbilt,”
that was to bear her forward on her chosen errand of mercy. Numerous and varied were the emotions that took possession of her heart as, when alone seated on the deck of the n.o.ble steamer, she found time at last for calm reflection. Would she find him alive? And would he be glad to see her? Then came stealing into her thoughts the unwelcome fact, like the whisperings of the serpent in the garden of flowers: ”He is a rebel!” The suggestions ran on; ”will it be possible to minister to the necessities of one like him without incurring censure? A _rebel_!” Tears came to her eyes. She had taken no time for weeping since the sad news reached her, but now she gave free vent to them although knowing that curious eyes were upon her. But sorrow was no uncommon spectacle in those days of bereavement and heart-breakings. Then came a thought as softly as steals the soft sunbeam that dries up the summer rain: ”My brothers are safe; his hand is powerless now to do them harm. Who knows but he will cease to contend for a cause he has not loved; to struggle for a victory his heart never desired.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”SHE PLACED THE CUP TO HIS LIPS.”]
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