ierce misery worked in my mind.

"Well, she can't do better," said the doctor, as they prepared to leave.
"Let me hear how you are, Ben. Don't eat too much till you get back your
strength, and be sure to take your egg-nog three times a day. Come
along, George, and we'll look up Robert's and Bushrod's graves in the
churchyard. You'd better bring the palm-leaf fan, you'll probably need
it."

They descended the curving steps leisurely, the General clinging to the
railing on one side, and supported by George on the other. Then, at
last, after many protestations of sympathy, and not a few anecdotes
forgotten until the instant of departure revived the memory, the old
grey horse, deciding suddenly that it was time for oats and the cool
stable, started of his own accord up the street toward the churchyard.
As the buggy passed out of sight, with the palm-leaf fan waving
frantically when it turned the corner, George came up the steps again,
and going indoors, brought out the little bundle of lace that he was to
deliver to its owner on his way home.

"Keep up your pluck, Ben," he said cheerfully; and turning away, he
looked at Sally with a long, thoughtful gaze as he held out his hand.

"Now, I'm going to wallop that boy," he remarked, after a minute. "Is
there anything else? I'll be over to-morrow as soon as I can get off
from the office."

"Nothing else," she replied; then, as he was moving away, she leaned
forward, with that bloom and softness in her look which always came to
her in moments when she was deeply stirred. "George!" she called, in a
low voice, "George!"

He stopped and came back, meeting her vivid face with eyes that grew
suddenly dark and gentle.

"It's just to say that I don't know what in the world I should have done
without you," she said.

Again he turned from her, and this time he went quickly, without looking
back, along the dusty street in the direction of the car line beyond the
corner.

"You've been up too long, Ben, and you're as white as a sheet," said
Sally, putting her hand on my arm. "Come, now, and lie down again while
Aunt Euphronasia is cooking supper. I must iron Maggie Tyler's blouse as
soon as it is dry."

The mention of Maggie Tyler's blouse was all I needed to precipitate me
into the abyss above which I had stood. Too miserable to offer useless
comment upon so obvious a tragedy, I followed her in silence back to the
bedroom, where she placed me on the bed and flung a soft, thin c