“My dear, not in words, perhaps; but actions speak louder than words. There is such a thing as constructive consent. Your manner may be so construed, Elfie, as to forge you fetters that you cannot break in all your life. I speak in warning, to save your future from misery, my dear.” “Oh, Erminie! would you have had me act otherwise than I did to the wounded, perhaps dying man? Oh, Erminie! I tried—I did indeed—I tried to be firm and hard and cruel, but I could not! I could not! And when I saw his face blanched, and his eyes drawn in, and his lips wrung with the agony he was trying to bear in silence, I—I could—couldn’t be unkind to him!” wept Elfie, burying her face in Erminie’s mantle. “Nor would I have you be unkind, Elfie, my dear,” said Miss Rosenthal, caressing her. “Be as kind as you please. Do everything for him that Christian love inspires. Only take care that you give him no hold upon your future life.” “Oh, Erminie! Erminie! I never had much self-control! And since my soul has been so torn between my old love and my hatred of treason, I have less! Oh, Erminie, I cannot say to myself that I will go ‘thus far and no farther!’” “Then I do not understand you, love. I only wished to caution you, that you should not, through inadvertence, forge chains for yourself that it would gall you to wear.” “Oh, Erminie! no! you don’t understand me! How should you, when I don’t understand myself?—When I saw _him_ at the head of his band; strong, rampant, insolent; in arms against the government; doing his arrogant will with everybody, and with myself among the rest. I _hated_ him, or I thought I did! And I prayed that he might come to _this_, and come to _worse_! And now, when I see him stretched, broken, helpless, and writhing in agony in that bed, as if it was a rack, I feel as if my cruel prayers had been granted, and I had brought him to it!” she wept. “That is morbid, Elfie. Whatever brought Colonel Goldsborough a wounded prisoner to our hospital it was not your prayers! For we know that heaven never hears the prayers for vengeance. But one word, Elfie. If Colonel Goldsborough rises from his bed again, do you mean to ratify with your consent that forced marriage?” “_If_ he rises! Oh, Erminie! you have looked upon too many wounded men not to know when you see the face of a dying one! Oh, Erminie! you must see that he will never, never rise from that bed!” said Elfie, breaking into fresh sobs. “No, no, Elfie, I see no such thing; that ghastly look of agony is by no means the look of death, which is usually very peaceful. No, Elfie, Colonel Goldsborough may possibly lose his leg; but he has a very fine constitution. And I see no earthly reason why he should lose his life. It is in anticipation of his recovery that I warn you not to allow your compassion for him in his present condition to compromise your future relations with him. But here we are at the Emory,” said Miss Rosenthal, as the carriage drew up before the gates of the hospital.