“There is a rule of evidence, I believe, which protects a suspected person from incriminating himself, but I will acknowledge that I have been here all of half an hour,” she answered, too proud to deny her part. “The people below were wondering where you could have gone, and I undertook a search upon my own account. Yes, sir,” somewhat archly, “I was afraid lest your injuries were more serious than you believed them to be. I discovered you lying here. You were resting very uncomfortably when I first came, and I felt it my duty to render your position as easy as possible. I did not forget that your fatigue came in our defence.” “Could you not say in yours?” I corrected. “But I have already been more than repaid. Your hand upon my brow was far more restful than I can tell you--its soft stroking mingled in my dreams even before I awoke. It brought back to me the thought of my mother. I do not think I have had a woman's hand press back my hair since I was a child.” Her eyes fell slightly, and she moved uneasily. “There was a look of pain upon your face as you lay sleeping, and I thought it might ease you somewhat. I have had some experience as a nurse, you know,” she explained quietly. “You mentioned your mother; is she yet living?” “She is in Richmond, stopping with friends, but since my capture we have lost all trace of each other. I was reported as having been killed in action, and I doubt if she even yet knows the truth. Everything is so confused in the capital that it is impossible to trace any one not directly connected with the army, once you lose exact knowledge of their whereabouts.” “Your father, then, is dead?” “He yielded his life the first year of the war; and our plantation near Charlottesville has been constantly in the track of the armies. One rather important battle, indeed, was fought upon it, so you may realize that it is now desolate, and utterly unfit for habitation.” “The house yet stands?” “The chimney and one wall alone remained when I was last there,” I replied, glad of the interest she exhibited. “Fortunately two of the negro cabins were yet standing. Doubtless these will form the nucleus of our home when the war ceases; they will prove a trifle better than the mere sky.” “The South is certainly paying a terrible price for rebellion,” she said soberly, her fine eyes filled with tears. “Only those of us who have beheld some portion of the sacrifice can ever realize how complete it is.” “The uselessness of it is what makes it seem now so unutterably sad.” “Yes,” she assented, “and this the South is beginning to understand. But I cannot help thinking of the joy awaiting your mother when she learns that you are well, after she has mourned you as dead. It will almost repay her for all the rest. How I should love to be the bearer of such news.” As she spoke she quietly rose to her feet and smiled pleasantly as I took advantage of the opportunity to sit up.