"She took me into the room, and went out, closing the door. Helen was lying on a couch; I thought she was already dead. But when I bent over her and spoke her name, she opened her eyes, and knew me immediately. I was shocked by her death-like face. It was all so sudden. I had left her the night before, dressed for a ball. She whispered to me to lift her in my arms, so that she might die there; but I was afraid to move her, lest her suffering should increase. She begged with so much earnestness, however, that at last, gently as I could, I lifted and held her. 'I am going to die,' she whispered, 'so I need not care any more, or try. I have always loved you, Ward. I loved you even when I married Richard.' I thought her mind was wandering; and she must have seen that I did, because she spoke again, and this time aloud. 'I am perfectly myself. I tell you that I have always loved you; you _shall_ know it before I die.' Miss Teller said, 'And he loves you also, my darling child; he has told me so. Now, for _his_ sake you will try to recover and be his wife.' "We were married two days later. The doctors advised it, because when I was not there Helen sank rapidly. I took care of the poor girl for weeks; she ate only from my hand. As she grew stronger, I taught her to walk again, and carried her in my arms up and down stairs. When at last she began to improve, she gained strength rapidly; she is now well, save that she will never be able to walk far or dance. I think she is happy. It seems a feeble thing to say, and yet it is something--I am always kind to Helen. "As for you--it was all a wild, sudden temptation. "I will go back to my regiment (as to my being in the army, after that attack on Sumter it seemed to me the only thing to do). I will make no attempt to follow you. In short, I will do--as well as I can. It may not be very well. W. H." * * * * * That was all. Anne, miserable, lonely, broken-hearted, as she was, felt that she had in one way conquered. She leaned her head against the tree trunk, and sat for some time with her eyes closed. Then she tore the letter into fragments, threw them into the river, and watched the slow current bear them away. When the last one had disappeared, she rose and went back to the hospital. "The clean clothes have been brought in, Miss Douglas," said the surgeon's assistant. "Can you sort them?" "Yes," she replied. And dull life moved on again. CHAPTER XXVII. "O Toil, O Loneliness, O Poverty, doing the right makes ye no easier."