"He tole me ter say ter you, missy, dat he was gwine ter git well, an' dat you mus'n't worry 'kase you didn't hear from him, an' dat he know you'd be kine to us, 'kase I'd help him win de vict'ry. De surgeon wrote some letters, too, an' gib dem to de Linkum cunnel. P'raps you git one ob dem. Dey put us in an army wagon, an' bimeby we reach a railroad, an' dey gib us a pass ter Washin'on, an' we come right on heah wid Cap'n Lane's money. I doesn't know what dey did with de robber--" "Oh, oh," cried Marian, "it may be weeks before I hear from my friend again, if I 'ever do." "Marian, dear," said her father, "do not look on the dark side; it might have been a hundred-fold worse. 'Cap'n' Lane was in circumstances of great comfort, with his own surgeon in care of his wound. Think how many poor fellows were left on the field of Chancellorsville to Heaven only knows what fate. In such desperate fighting as has been described we have much reason to be thankful that he was not killed outright. He has justly earned great credit with his superiors, and I predict that he will get well and be promoted. I think you will receive a letter in a day or two from the surgeon. I prescribe that you and mamma sleep in the morning till you are rested. I won't grumble at taking my coffee alone." Then, to the colored woman and her son: "Don't you worry. We'll see that you are taken care of." Late as it was, hours still elapsed before Marian slept. Her hero had become more heroic than ever. She dwelt on his achievements with enthusiasm, and thought of his sufferings with a tenderness never before evoked, while the possibility that "Missy S'wanee" was his nurse produced twinges approaching jealousy. As was expected, the morning post brought a letter from the surgeon confirming the account that had been given by the refugees, and full of hope-inspiring words. Then for weeks there were no further tidings from Lane.