This union had been a _marriage_--not one of the imperfect ties that pass under the name, on earth. Afterwards, when I learned more of the social economy of the new life, I perceived more clearly the rarity and peculiar value of an experience which had in it the elements of what might be called (if I should be allowed the phrase) eternal permanency, and which involved, therefore, none of the disintegration and redistribution of relations consequent upon passing from temporary or mistaken choices to a fixed and perfect state of society. Later, on that same evening, I was called eagerly from below. I was resting, and alone;--I had, so to speak, drawn my first breath in Heaven; once again, like a girl in my own room under my father’s roof; my heart at anchor, and my peace at full tide. I ran as I used to run, years ago, when he called me, crying down,-- “I’m coming, Father,” while I delayed a moment to freshen my dress, and to fasten it with some strange white flowers that climbed over my window, and peered, nodding like children, into the room. When I reached the hall, or whatever might be the celestial name for the entrance room below, I did not immediately see my father, but I heard the sound of voices beyond, and perceived the presence of many people in the house. As I hesitated, wondering what might be the etiquette of these new conditions, and whether I should be expected to play the hostess at a reception of angels or saints, some one came up from behind me, I think, and held out his hand in silence. “St. Johns!” I cried, “Jamie St. Johns! The last time I saw _you_”-- “The last time you saw me was in a field-hospital after the battle of Malvern Hills,” said St. Johns. “I died in your arms, Miss Mary. Shot flew about you while you got me that last cup of water. I died hard. You sang the hymn I asked for--‘Ye who tossed on beds of pain’--and the shell struck the tent-pole twenty feet off, but you sang right on. I was afraid you would stop. I was almost gone. But you never faltered. You sang my soul out--do you remember? I’ve been watching all this while for you. I’ve been a pretty busy man since I got to this place, but I’ve always found time to run in and ask your father when he expected you. “I meant to be the first all along; but I hear there’s a girl got ahead of me. She’s here, too, and some more women. But most of us are the boys, to-night, Miss Mary,--come to give you a sort of house-warming--just to say we’ve never forgotten!... and you see we want to say ‘Welcome home at last’ to _our_ army woman--God bless her--as she blessed us!