"The very physicians fled from the smitten wretches by scores, for fear of sharing their fate. We had but few doctors in the city for a fortnight who were brave enough to stay, and we had to take turns and do what we could for each other. The very negroes could not be bought with money to stay with us, but fled, panic-stricken, and left us to die unattended. Nineteen bodies were carried out of this house in one day, and the last I can remember before I crawled into this room away from the groans to die, were the ghastly bodies of poor Major Hilton and the commandant of the forces lying waiting for removal. I held out longest, but had to succumb at last. It is so strange to wake up from death, and to find a lovely lady at my bedside, breathing my poisoned breath, and wooing me from my companions' fate with such devotion." "A lovely lady!" How she glows over with surprised blushes and smiles! How she stoops again to catch the feeble accents and to read the upraised orbs. "Lovely! Yes, yes; more than lovely--better than beautiful. When I looked up from my dream of death I thought yours the face of an angel. I think so still." "Hush! hush! If you talk so wildly, dear, I shall think you are wandering again." "I am not wandering, my Perdita. If ever I do, your beloved hand has but to touch mine and I will come back. Sometimes I have thought of late----" "Go on, darling. You have thought of late----" "That you were getting weary of your invalid, and regretting your promise." "How could you ever think that of me?" "There. I love to see those gray eyes deepen and flash through generous tears. I will take that back, for I see it is not true." "Have I ever been forgetful of you?" "No, no, no. If ever woman had the heart of an angel of mercy, you have one, my Perdita. It was not that you missed one atom of your wonderful care for me, but lately you have been reserved. You have denied me your hand so often to help me back to myself, or your bosom when my head ached; and the sweet words of endearment rarely come from you, except when once or twice you have thought I was sleeping." "You are getting so well and strong that you do not require such excessive tenderness. It was only while you were helpless as a child that I felt for you as if you were one." "You are but a child yourself, my poor, fragile darling; and yet, child as you are, I _do_ require your motherly care, your motherly words of love. I have had them once, and they were so heavenly sweet that I cannot do without them." "I will be your mother, then, until you can do without me. I shall take care of my child until he is able to take care of himself." "Little mother, why do you weep?" "Hush! hush! we have talked long enough; go to sleep." "In yours arms, then Perdita." She gathers him to her heart. Recklessly she strains him close while yet she may, heedless of the lonely days when heart and soul will hunger gnawingly for this blessed moment.