She rambled on in this strain, coming and going in a great bustle of excitement through the room in which they sat, as if her departure really were imminent. She talked just as Dorothea had heard her talk by the hour, and so familiar was the theme that Dorothea soon lost the thread of it, her thoughts wandered off to other matters and she sat idly looking out of the window, which commanded a view of the driveway up to the house. “I really don’t know where Corinne is,” Mrs. Stewart explained in one of her darts into the room. “I think she went into the village for something, but I can’t be sure. However, she will be home shortly, I suppose, if she doesn’t stay longer wherever she has gone.” Dorothea smiled to herself as she heard the words, thinking that undoubtedly Mrs. Stewart was entirely correct in this statement; but not caring very much whether she saw Corinne or not. “And, Harriot,” Mrs. Stewart went on, “you might go and see if there are not some refreshments to be had. Perhaps there is some fruit cake, but—” Her voice trailed off as she and the quickly responsive Harriot left the room. Alone, Dorothea looked out of the window, idly watching two people coming slowly toward the house. As they drew nearer she recognized that one of the pair was Corinne and beside her was a man, walking painfully with the aid of a crutch. She had no need to note that his tattered uniform was the Confederate gray, for the sight of wounded soldiers struggling back along the roads to their homes was familiar enough. They passed through the little town daily, singly or in groups of half a dozen, helping each other as best they might and depending upon the generosity of the inhabitants for their food from day to day. Of course every one was kind to them and they were one of the few sources of information coming into the place. Dorothea’s heart was touched once more, as it had been at every encounter with these unfortunate victims of the war, and she had the impulse to go out to greet the man with a word of encouragement and sympathy. But she knew Corinne well enough to realize that she would not welcome any assistance in her ministrations. She had no wish to share the glory of her good deeds with any one, and, knowing this, Dorothea kept her seat and watched the two approach. Evidently the man was badly disabled. Each limping step seemed a painful effort, and now and then he would stop as if it was impossible to bear the pain without a rest. As they drew near enough for Dorothea to see their faces, her view was cut off by the shrubbery and it was not until she heard Corinne’s voice that she knew they had reached the house. The stumbling of the wounded man mounting the two or three steps of the porch and then the stumping of his crutch on the board flooring, were next audible. “Sit down here and I will bring you some food,” Corinne said, and there was the scrape of a chair as the girl pulled it forward.