“And now, my dear,” said Erminie, when Elfie had drained the cup, “you must put on your bonnet and mantle and return home with me. The carriage is waiting at the door.” “Oh, Erminie! I cannot—I cannot leave him here!” wept Elfie. “And you shall not, dear. I have spoken to the surgeon in charge, and he will speak to those in authority and take the necessary measures to have the remains of Colonel Goldsborough removed to our house, where the funeral shall be solemnized,” said Miss Rosenthal. “Oh, Erminie! how can I ever thank and bless you enough!” exclaimed Elfie. The Lutheran minister’s orphan daughter stooped and kissed the sorrowing girl, and then with her own hands put on Elfie’s shawl and bonnet and made her ready for her ride. Lastly, Miss Rosenthal, in a graceful and earnest manner, thanked Sister Agnes for her kindness to Elfie, and then took leave. When they were in the carriage, Erminie said: “Give yourself no uneasiness about the details of this sad duty, Elfie. I will send for the proper people and have everything done to your satisfaction.” “Oh, thanks, thanks, with all my heart and soul!” wept Elfie. When they reached the parsonage, Erminie made Elfie undress and go to bed, and soon had the comfort of seeing the weeping girl sob herself to sleep. Erminie sent for her friend, Dr. Sales, and put all the arrangements for the funeral in his hands. And then she sat down and wrote a letter to Elfie’s father, telling him all that had happened, and begging him to get leave and come to his daughter as soon as possible. This letter, as it afterwards appeared, never reached Major Fielding, who happened at the very time of its posting to be on his way to Washington. The funeral of Albert Goldsborough took place on Sunday. He was interred in the same burial ground where the remains of the deceased members of the Rosenthal family reposed. Elfie returned from the grave sorrowful but composed, and that night she was blessed with the first quiet sleep that had visited her weary-mind and body since her meeting with her wounded husband in the hospital. On the next day, Monday, Elfie, dressed in her widow’s weeds, was seated in the library, seeking comfort and guidance from the pages of the Holy Scriptures, when she heard the street door bell ring. And the moment after the library door was opened, and Major Fielding entered the room. Seeing a quiet little woman sitting there in widow’s weeds, with her fine hair concealed under a widow’s cap, and knowing nothing at all of what had happened to his daughter within the last few weeks, the honest major supposed that he had made a mistake, and intruded upon one of Miss Rosenthal’s visitors. And with an— “I beg your pardon, Madam; I was told that I should find my daughter here,” he was about to back out, when Elfie looked up, and exclaiming: “Papa! papa! oh, don’t you know me?” started up and flung herself into his arms, and sobbing violently, clung to him.