d, and
homely face; but there hung about her a great innocence and purity; and
she had a certain trustful manner that went home to the roughest and
gained their best feeling from them. Her voice, I remember, was low and
remarkably sweet. It was curious to see how all, from the servants in
the house to _blase_ young men of society, were touched by some potent
charm, and tried in simple, natural ways to aid her. I used to think
Ellen was sent into the world to show how near one of the very least of
these, His brethren, came to Him. She grew restless,--her disease
working with her. "She must go on to Columbus,--to the gate-keeper and
his wife. She would live with them as their child."

Meanwhile every effort had been made to communicate with her brother, or
to gain a furlough for him. But all failed; the regiment was in the
wilds of the Virginia border in active service. No message could reach
him. There was no system then in the army.

What could be done for Ellen's comfort in the future her friends did
anxiously, and then sent her on to Columbus. She remained with the old
people but a week, however. "She was very happy with us," the
gate-keeper's wife said. Governor Dennison promised to procure Joe a
furlough, and, if possible, a dismissal, as soon as the regiment could
be reached by letter. In the mean while she busied herself in making a
dress and little useful things for housekeeping, to please her brother
when he should come; used to talk all day of her plans,--how they would
live near us in some quiet little house. Her trouble seemed all
forgotten.

But one day she went out and saw the camp. The sight of the armed men
and the uniforms seemed to bring back all she had suffered in Virginia.
She was uneasy and silent that night,--said once or twice that she must
go on, go on,--got her basket and packed it again. The next morning she
went across the field without it, as if to take a walk. When an hour
passed we searched for her, and found she had gone into town and taken
passage on the Western Railroad.

My story ends here. We never could trace her, though no effort was left
untried. I confess that this is one, though almost hopeless. Yet I
thought that some chance reader might be able to finish the story for
me.

Whether Joe fell in his country's service or yet lives in some "little
house" for Ellen, or whether she has found a longer, surer rest, in a
house made ready for her long ago by other hands than his, I m