y, thee had better say it, for thee
probably has not long to live.'

"I thought of my little sister, far away in Alabama, fancied she came
to me, and muttered, 'Amy, kiss me good-by.' The women sobbed at that;
but the girl bent her sweet compassionate face to mine, and kissed me
on the forehead. That was my wife."

"So you seceded from Secession right away, to pay for that
lip-service, hey?"

"No, Thorn, not right away,--to my shame be it spoken. I'll tell
you how it came about. Margaret was not old Bent's daughter, but a
Massachusetts girl on a visit, and a long one it proved, for she
couldn't go till things were quieter. While she waited, she helped
take care of me; for the good souls petted me like a baby when they
found that a Rebel could be a gentleman. I held my tongue, and behaved
my best to prove my gratitude, you know. Of course, I loved Margaret
very soon. How could I help it? She was the sweetest woman I had ever
seen, tender, frank, and spirited; all I had ever dreamed of and
longed for. I did not speak of this, nor hope for a return, because I
knew she was a hearty Unionist, and thought she only tended me from
pity. But suddenly she decided to go home, and when I ventured to wish
she would stay longer, she would not listen, and said, 'I must not
stay; I should have gone before.'

"The words were nothing, but as she uttered them the color came up
beautifully over all her face, and her eyes filled as they looked away
from mine. Then I knew that she loved me, and my secret broke out
against my will. Margaret was forced to listen, for I would not let
her go, but she seemed to harden herself against me, growing colder,
stiller, statelier, as I went on, and when I said in my desperate
way,--

"'You should love me, for we are bid to love our enemies,' she flashed
an indignant look at me and said,--

"'I will not love what I cannot respect! Come to me a loyal man, and
see what answer I shall give you.'

"Then she went away. It was the wisest thing she could have done,
for absence did more to change me than an ocean of tears, a year
of exhortations. Lying there, I missed her every hour of the day,
recalled every gentle act, kind word, and fair example she had given
me. I contrasted my own belief with hers, and found a new significance
in the words honesty and honor, and, remembering her fidelity to
principle, was ashamed of my own treason to God and to herself.
Education, prejudice, and interest, are diffi