“I am glad to think,” she answered in a low, hesitating tone, “that your imprisonment here has been rendered tolerable.” “Tolerable!” cried Ernest. “I wish such imprisonment could last forever!” “What!” exclaimed Mildred, feigning not to understand, “would you be willing to be cooped up while your comrades are fighting the battles of liberty? Sometimes I wish I could go myself, and that I were an Amazon stout enough to shoulder a cannon. The poor South needs every soldier she can get. You must, therefore, dismiss your Utopian dreams and enter into gory and awful realities.” “If I know myself,” said Ernest, “I do not shrink from those realities. But I need something to inflame my zeal.” “What do you need?” she asked, wishing after the inquiry had been made, that she had propounded some other question. “I have told you,” he replied, “that I have no intimate friends. My affections are roving around like the ‘wandering Jew,’ seeking some object upon which to concentrate. The object that comes within their focus will find no reason to complain of their lack of intensity. Do you understand me?” “I cannot say that I do,” answered Mildred, “but I should think that the goddess of Liberty would be sufficient to elicit all the better feelings and aspirations of your soul.” “The goddess of Liberty may call forth a certain class of affections, but there is another group which requires a more substantial being.” Mildred said nothing, but looked thoughtful. She understood what Ernest meant, yet he had spoken so vaguely that she was reminded of the amiable Pickwick and the widow Bardell, which association of ideas caused her to laugh out-right. Ernest gazed at her in amazement and pain. “What is it that amuses you so?” he asked in a tone indicative of displeasure. “Please excuse me, Captain,” she said deprecatingly. “I was not, I assure you, laughing at anything you said. It was only a foolish and ridiculous thought that suddenly came into my mind. I beg your pardon,” she said earnestly. “Granted,” he replied, “if you will only be serious for a moment.” “Certainly, I will.” “I will speak plainly so that you cannot misunderstand me. The truth is, I love you.” “O, Captain,” she exclaimed with solemn earnestness, “what a time for such a declaration!” “Why?” asked Ernest. “Why, we are on the threshold of a terrible war which will end, we know not when.” “That is the very reason I want a love to sustain me under the trials which await me. My nature demands love. I am gloomy and wretched without it.” “How have you managed this long, Captain?” “I will tell you all about it.” And he gave her a full account of all the circumstances of his past life, after which Mildred with a cunning smile, said: “It seems, then, I am second choice.”