and," she answered, "my sufferings may be the
price of independence, and I meet them cheerfully. Though in my hours
of destitution, despair may have caused me to utter words of anguish,
never, for a moment, have I regretted that you left me, to struggle
for your country. If in my sufferings; if in the death of my child; if
in my death; and if in the destroying of our once happy family circle,
the cause for which you are a soldier is advanced, welcome them. Woman
can only show her devotion by suffering, and though I cannot struggle
with you on the battle-field, in suffering as I have done, I feel it
has been for our holy cause."

"Eva, Eva," he exclaimed, "do all these give you back to me? Do they
restore my angel daughter? Do they bring me happiness? Oh, my wife, I
had hoped that old age would meet us calmly floating down the stream
of Time, surrounded by a happy family, and thanking God for the
blessings he had bestowed upon me. When I first led you to the altar,
I dreamed that our lives would be blended together for many, many
years, and though I knew that the 'Lord giveth and the Lord taketh
away,' and that at any time we may die, I never thought that the end
of our happiness would be brought about in such a way as this. You
tell me it is the price of Independence. Aye, and it is a fearful
price. When you are laid in the cold grave aside of Ella, and I am
struggling in the battle-field, what is there to inspire me with
courage, and bid me fight on until liberty is won? And when it is at
last achieved, I cannot share the joy of my comrades. I have no home
to go to, and if even I have, it is desolate. No wife is there to
welcome me, no daughter to thank me, but I must take my orphan boy by
the hand, and leading him to your grave, kneel by its side and weep
together on the sod that covers your remains."

There was not a dry eye in the room. All wept with the husband, and
even the dying woman could not restrain the tears.

"Alfred," she said, "do not weep. My husband, up there, in Heaven, we
will meet again, and then the desolation on earth will be more than
repaid by the pleasure of eternal joy. Let not my death cause you to
falter in your duty to the South. Promise me, my husband, that through
all changes you will ever remain steadfast and loyal to her sacred
cause. Look not on the cruelty of a few men as the work of the whole,
and remember that if even you are not made happier by the achievement
of independence, th