"My dear Miss Douglas!" said Dr. Flower, a grave, portly man, whose ideas moved as slowly as his small fat-encircled eyes. "I know a Mr. Heathcote; this may be the same person. The Mr. Heathcote I know is engaged to a friend of mine, a lady to whom I am much indebted. I must learn whether this officer in the next valley is he." "But even if it is the same man, no doubt he is doing well over there. Otherwise we should have heard from them before this time," said the surgeon, sensibly. But Anne did not stop at sense. "It is probable, but not certain. There must be no room for doubt. If _you_ will ride over, I will stay. Otherwise I must go." "I can not leave; it is impossible." "Where can I procure a horse, then?" "I do not think I ought to allow it, Miss Douglas. It is nearly fifteen miles to the next valley; of course you can not go alone, and I can not spare Mary Crane to go with you." The surgeon spoke decidedly; he had daughters of his own at home, and felt himself responsible for this young nurse. Anne looked at him. "Oh, do help me!" she cried, with an outburst of sudden emotion. "I must go; even if I go alone, and walk every step of the way, I must, must go!" Dr. Caleb Flower was a slow man; but anything he had once learned he remembered. He now recognized the presence of what he called "one of those intense impulses which make even timid women for the time being inflexible as adamant." "You will have to pay largely for horses and a guide," he said, in order to gain time, inwardly regretting meanwhile that he had not the power to tie this nurse to her chair. "I have a little money with me." "But even if horses are found, you can not go alone; and, as I said before, I can not spare Mary." "Why would not Diana do?" said Anne. "Diana!" exclaimed Dr. Flower, his lips puckering as if to form a long whistle. Diana was a middle-aged negro woman, who, with her husband, July, lived in a cabin near the mill, acting as laundress for the hospital. She was a silent, austere woman; in her there was little of the light-heartedness and plenitude of person which generally belong to her race. A devout Baptist, quoting more texts to the sick soldiers than they liked when she was employed in the hospital, chanting hymns in a low voice while hanging out the clothes, Diana had need of her austerity, industry, and leanness to balance July, who was the most light-hearted, lazy, and rotund negro in the mountains. "But you know that Mary Crane has orders not to leave you?" said Dr. Flower. "I did not know it." "Yes; so she tells me. The ladies of the Aid Society who sent her arranged it. And I wish with all my heart that our other young nurses were as well taken care of!" added the surgeon, a comical expression coming into his small eyes. "On ordinary occasions I would not, of course, interfere with these orders," said Anne, "but on this I must. You must trust me with Diana, doctor--Diana and July. They will take good care of me."