“And so far each of us is right. We are both right in adhering to what we conscientiously believe to be our duty.” Elfie was puzzled and silenced. Goldsborough went on. “We should either of us be very wrong to give up our honest convictions of duty merely to please the other.” Elfie was still perplexed and dumb-foundered. “Listen, my darling. In the old days of intolerance, _religious_ persecution was the great madness. The one Christian sect that happened to be dominant persecuted all other Christian sects, and for the glory of God, roasted them alive; and the other Christian sects, still for the glory of God submitted to be roasted, and hoped for the crown of martyrdom. But by and by the tables would be turned, and the dominant sect would be down and some other sect would be up and the persecutors would become the persecuted, and the roasters the roasted. And again, whatever was done or suffered on either hand was for the sake of conscience and for the glory of God. Now, Elfie, in the face of such facts as history gives, when men so honestly differed in such mighty issues that they were ready to sacrifice each other and to yield up their own lives, each in defence of his own peculiar convictions, what have you to say?” “Why, that there are many wrong ways and but one right one, if we could only find it,” said Elfie. “Yes, if we could only find it,” smiled Goldsborough; “but in the difficulty each must take the way he thinks to be the right way; and to him it _will_ be the right way. Elfie, my darling, the days of intolerance are passing away. Religious intolerance is a thing of the past. Political intolerance and social intolerance will follow it into oblivion. Meanwhile—” “Meanwhile, dear Albert, you are talking too much. Do not think it necessary to justify yourself to me. Let me stop all with this—” she said, stooping and pressing her lips to his. “I love you, Albert, I love you—I love you; that is the one thing I am surest of now. There, close your eyes and try to sleep, with my hand in yours, and my face near yours,” she murmured, dropping her head on the edge of his pillow. He smiled, and with one hand clasped in hers, and the other laid lightly among the black tresses of her bended head, he closed his eyes, and tried to rest. He was in that state of physical decline when conversation is not exciting but exhausting. He was very much exhausted, and he slept. Even in that crowded ward they were, from their position, nearly isolated. The cot was in the corner, with a window at each angle; and their nearest neighbor was the young Union soldier who had lost his leg. The boy, from a sense of politeness, had turned his back upon them, and was occupying his attention with a newspaper. Elfie’s patient slept, and Elfie never moved and scarcely breathed, lest she should disturb him. How long the days in the hospital seemed. People came and went. A low hum of conversation prevailed.