“I have just been paroled, Mrs. Brennan, After four years of war I am at last free, and have turned my face toward all that is left of my childhood's home,--a few weed-grown acres. I scarcely know whether I am luckier than the men who died.” I saw the tears glistening again in her earnest eyes. “Oh, but you are, Captain Wayne,” she exclaimed quickly. “You have youth and love to inspire you--for your mother yet lives. Truly it makes my heart throb to think of the upbuilding which awaits you men of the South. It is through such as you--soldiers trained by stern duty--that these desolated States are destined to rise above the ashes of war into a greatness never before equalled. I feel that now, in this supreme hour of sacrifice, the men and women of the South are to exhibit before the world a courage greater than that of the battlefield. It is to be the marvel of the nation, and the thought and pride of it should make you strong.” “It may indeed be so; I can but believe it, as the prophecy comes from your lips. I might even find courage to do my part in this redemption were you ever at hand to inspire.” She laughed gently. “I am not a Virginian, Captain Wayne, but a most loyal daughter of the North; yet if I so inspire you by my mere words, surely it is not so far to my home but you might journey there to listen to my further words of wisdom.” “I have not forgotten the permission already granted me, and it is a temptation not easily cast aside. You return North soon?” “Within a week.” I hardly know what prompted me to voice my next question,--Fate, perhaps, weary of being so long mocked,--for I felt small interest in her probable answer. “Do you expect your husband's release from duty by that time?” She gave a quick start of surprise, drawing in her breath as though suddenly choked. Then the rich color overspread her face. “My husband?” she ejaculated in voice barely audible, “my husband? Surely you cannot mean Major Brennan?” “But I certainly do,” I said, wondering what might be wrong. “Whom else could I mean?” “And you thought that?” she asked incredulously. “Why, how could you?” “How should I have thought otherwise?” I exclaimed, my eyes eagerly searching her downcast face. “Why, Caton told me it was so the night I was before Sheridan; he confirmed it again in conversation less than an hour ago. Colgate, my Lieutenant, who met you in a Baltimore hospital, referred to him the same way. If I have been deceived through all these months, surely everything and everybody conspired to that end,--you bore the same name; you told me plainly you were married; you wore a wedding-ring; you resided while at camp in his quarters; you called each other Frank and Edith. From first to last not one word has been spoken by any one to cause me to doubt that you were his wife.” As I spoke these words hastily, vehemently, the flood of color receded from her face, leaving it pale as marble. Her lips parted, but failed in speech.