CHAPTER XXXI. POOR ELFIE’S HONEYMOON. Can this be death? Then what is life, or death? “Speak!” But he spoke not. “Wake!” But still he slept: But yesterday and who had mightier breath? A thousand warriors by his word were kept In awe. He said, as the centurian saith— “Go,” and he goeth; “Come,” and he steppeth forth. The trump and bugle till he spake were dumb, And now naught left him but the muffled drum.—BYRON. The next morning it was Elfie who was all impatience to get off to the hospitals. On nearly all former occasions when Elfie was to be her companion in her rounds among the sick and wounded soldiers, Erminie had been very much “tried” by her friend’s dilatory habits. But this morning Elfie was dressed and had the carriage at the door long before Erminie had got through her domestic duties of the forenoon. And so Elfie spent the time in walking impatiently up and down the hall, until at length Erminie made her appearance in bonnet and shawl. “You will go to the hospital first?” inquired Elfie, anxiously, thinking and speaking as if the hospital in which Albert Goldsborough lay were the only one in the city. “Yes, dear; for your sake I will go to ‘the’ hospital first. After which we will visit the others. But, Elfie, dear, excuse me if I repeat my warning of yesterday. Be as kind as you please; but take care not to compromise yourself.” “Now, Erminie, when did I ever take care of myself, in any way? You might as well ask a fish to fly. I cannot say to my heart, ‘thus far—no farther.’ I never could. Besides, Erminie, his livid, agonized face has haunted me all the night through. Don’t say any more to me, please. I don’t want to lose my self-possession again this morning. I don’t want to go to the hospital with red eyes,” said Elfie. “Well, my dear, I will say no more—but this: Since you cannot take care of yourself, I pray Heaven to take care of you,” said Miss Rosenthal. They entered the carriage and were rapidly driven to the hospital. Arrived there, they found all signs of yesterday’s horrors effaced. The wounded had been all properly cared for, and the halls, stairs and lobbies had been washed. Erminie had her usual short interview with the surgeon in charge, and then passed up, accompanied by Elfie, to the wards on the second floor. Elfie went at once to the ward in which Albert Goldsborough had been placed. She passed hastily between the two long lines of little beds, until she came to the end, when she stopped and uttered a half-suppressed cry. Albert Goldsborough’s bed was empty. She turned her wild dilated eyes, full of the question her lips could not utter, towards the Union soldier who occupied the next bed. “Yes, poor fellow!” said the soldier, “they’ve taken him to the operating room.” “‘The operating room!’” gasped Elfie, with suspended breath. “Yes, Miss.”