In the afternoon we began to hear rumors giving names of the killed and wounded. I listened with my heart in my throat for Dan’s name, but I did not hear it. I heard no news whatever of him all day--all day I could only hope that no news was good news, and all day that ghastly procession dragged heavily by. Among names of those killed I heard of Colonel Sol Williams. A day or two before the battle of Brandy he had returned from a furlough to Petersburg, where he had gone to marry a lovely woman, a friend of mine. The day before he was killed he had sat at table with me, chatting pleasantly of mutual friends at home from whom he had brought messages, brimful of happiness, and of the charming wife he had won! As the day waned I sat in my room, wretched and miserable, thinking of my friend who was at once a wife and a widow, and fearing for myself, whose husband even at that moment might be falling under his death wound. I was aroused by hearing the voices of men, subdued but excited, on the stairway leading to my room. I ran out and saw several men of rank and Mr. Bradford on the stairway talking excitedly, and I heard my name spoken. “What’s the matter, gentlemen?” I asked with forced calmness. They looked up at me in a stupid, masculine sort of way, as if they had something disagreeable to say and didn’t want to say it. I could shake those men now, when I think of how stupid they were! They were listening to Mr. Bradford, and I don’t think they really caught my question, nor did my manner betray to them how fast my heart was beating, but they were stupid, nevertheless. I could hardly get the next words out: “Is Dan hurt?” This time my voice was so low that they did not hear it at all. “For God’s sake, gentlemen,” I cried out, “tell me if my husband is wounded or dead.” “Neither, madam!” several voices answered instantly, and the officer nearest me, thinking I was going to fall, sprang quickly to my side. I gathered myself together, and they told me their business, and I saw why my presence had embarrassed them--they wanted my room for the wounded. A funny thing had happened, incongruous as it was, in their telling me that my fears for Dan were groundless. When I asked, “Is Dan hurt?” one of them had answered, “No, ma’am; it’s General Rooney Lee;” and I had said, “Thank God!” I can’t describe the look of horror with which they heard me. “These gentlemen,” began Mr. Bradford, who was always afraid to speak his mind, “wanted to bring General Lee here, and I didn’t have a place to put him, and I was telling ’em that I thought that--maybe--you would give him your room. I could fix up a lounge for you somewhere.” “Of course I will! I shall be delighted to give up my room, or do anything else I can for General Lee.”