Then one day the subject of her rambling talk was changed. She seemed to be reading some account of a Northern victory--over and over again, she repeated all the details--the calmness of the great General--the wild delight of the victorious troops!--the rags and hunger of the prisoners--and always ended with: “The enemy lost two thousand men killed and five thousand wounded!” Mrs. Wallace had listened to the harassing repetition of this Northern triumph until her strained nerves could bear no more, and was turning with a flushed face to leave the bedside, when a sort of gasping sob stopped her. Once more the sick woman repeated: “The enemy lost two thousand men killed--” and then, in a tone lowered almost to a whisper, she added: “Oh, the wives and the mothers!--two thousand killed! Oh, dear God, be merciful to the poor mothers--the heartbroken mothers of the South!” and Mrs. Wallace sank upon her knees, and taking the burning hand of the sick woman in her own, she cried: “Great heart! I will love you all my life, for that gentle prayer!” The words seemed to reach the inner consciousness of the sufferer--her hot, blue eyes turned their glance upon the calm, brown ones beside her, where they wavered for a moment--steadied--rested, and then recognition dawned in them, and a weak voice whispered: “You said--?” “I said I loved you for your great heart!” answered Mrs. Wallace. A faint brightness came to the sick face, and she said: “Then don’t leave me ever! We can love and mourn our dead together! Life is so hard--to bear alone--be my sister--Marion!” They looked long into each other’s eyes. They must have thought of many things! But it was as if the hands of their dear, dead boys drew them together. And Mrs. Wallace gently answered: “I will not leave you while you want me, Martha! We will walk together, if you will it, till we are called to join our dear ones;” their hands met in a close clasp, and in ten minutes Mrs. Swift was asleep. After Mrs. Swift had recovered, the neighbors spent all their spare time, and a good deal that was not spare, in wondering “when that Southern woman was going away?”