“That can never be, Captain Wayne,” she returned calmly, yet rising even as she spoke. “You have come into my life under circumstances so peculiar as to make me always your friend. Celia,” and she turned toward the others, “is it not time we were going? I am very sure the doctor said you were to remain with Lieutenant Caton but a brief time.” “Why, Edith,” retorted the other, gayly, “I have been ready for half an hour--haven't I, Arthur?--but you were so deeply engrossed with your Rebel I hadn't the heart to interrupt.” I could see the quick color as it mounted over Mrs. Brennan's throat. “Nonsense,” she answered; “we have not been here that length of time.” “Did the Major emerge from out the late entanglement unhurt?” It was Caton's voice that spoke. “Much to his regret, I believe, he was not even under fire.” The tone was cool and collected again. “I will say good-bye, Lieutenant; doubtless we shall see you at Mountain View so soon as you are able to take the journey. And, Captain Wayne, I trust I shall soon learn of your complete recovery.” My eyes followed them down the long aisle. At the entrance she glanced back, and I lifted my hand. Whether she marked the gesture I do not know, for the next instant both ladies had disappeared without. Caton endeavored to talk with me, but I answered him so briefly, and with such vague knowledge of what had been said, that he soon desisted. I could see only the face that had so lately bent above me, and reflect upon the fate which held me helpless in its grasp. I felt that had circumstances been other than they were, this proudly tender woman might have learned from me the lesson of love, and in my weakness, both of spirit and body, I rebelled against the impassable barrier holding us apart. She was the wife of another, yet, in spite of every determination, I loved her with all my soul. The night drew slowly down, and as it darkened, only one miserable lamp shed its dim rays throughout the great tent; nurses moved noiselessly from cot to cot, and I learned something of the nature of my own injuries from the gruff old surgeon who dressed the wound in my chest and refastened the splints along my arm. Then silence followed, excepting for the heavy breathing of the sleepers and the restless tossing of sufferers on their narrow cots. Here and there echoed wild words of delirium, but soon even these faint sounds died away in slumber, while the drowsy night-watch dozed in a chair. I could see from where I lay a blazing fire without, while in its glow along the side of the tent there was cast the black shadow of a sentinel, as he paced back and forth along his beat. So clear were the shaded lines I was able to trace his gun, and even the peculiar turn-up to the visor of his forage-cap. The pain I had experienced earlier in the day grew less acute, and at last I also fell asleep.