"That is all true," Elsie said, "I think I can understand both your feelings and theirs, but they are dear good Christian people, and I assure you bear you no ill-will." "Ah, is that so? I am told Leland has not really gone North, as was supposed, but has returned to the plantation since--since the coming of the troops." "He has, and is nearly recovered from his wound." "He was wounded, then?" "Yes, pretty badly." "And was in hiding somewhere; and his wife staying on alone with her children and servants? I wonder she had the courage." "She put her trust in the Lord, as I believe both you and I do, my dear Mrs. Foster; and he has not failed her." Mrs. Foster mused sadly for a moment. "I have felt hard to her," she murmured at length, in low, trembling tones; "and she a Christian, whom I should love for the Master's sake, and it was quite natural for her to--defend her husband and children. I should have done the same for mine." She had not mentioned when or where Wilkins had received his wound, but Elsie knew now that it was at Fairview and that Mrs. Leland's or Archie's hand had sped the bullet that had done such fearful work. Dr. Barton came: Mrs. Foster went with him to the sick-room and Elsie lingered, anxious to hear his opinion of the case. But Annie came hurrying in with her tear-swollen face. "Dear Mrs. Travilla, won't you come too?" she sobbed. "Mamma will be so glad; and--and Wilkins begs you will come." Elsie rose and put her arm about the waist of the weeping girl. "I will gladly do all I can for him, your mamma or any of you," she whispered. There was no want of comfort or luxury in the sick-room. Mother and sisters had sacrificed every such thing to this idol of their hearts, this only son and brother. He lay propped up with pillows, his face pale as that of a corpse, and breathing with great difficulty. Dr. Barton sat at the bedside with his finger on the patient's pulse while he asked a few brief questions, then relapsed into a thoughtful silence. All eyes were turned upon him with intense anxiety, waiting in almost breathless suspense for his verdict; but his countenance betrayed nothing. "O doctor!" sighed the mother at length, "have you no word of hope to speak?" "Let us have none of false hope, doctor," gasped the sufferer, "I would know--the--worst." "My poor lad," said the kind-hearted old physician, in tender, fatherly tones, "I will not deceive you. Whatever preparation you have to make for your last long journey, let it be made at once." With a burst of uncontrollable anguish the mother and sisters fell upon their knees at the bedside. "How--long--doctor?" faltered the sick man. "You will hardly see the rising of another sun." The low, gently-spoken words pierced more than one heart as with a dagger's point. "Was--this--wound--mortal in the--first place?" asked Wilkins.