aid:

"I am so glad--oh, so glad!"

Then, as it occurred to her that he might perhaps misjudge her, and put
a wrong construction upon her joy, she added:

"I did not care for myself, Robert. Don't think I cared for myself, or
was ever sorry a bit on my own account."

Bob looked a little bewildered as he replied: "Never were sorry and
never cared! I can scarcely credit that, for surely your tears and
present emotions belie your words."

Bell knew he had not understood her, and she said:

"Your arm, Robert, your arm. We heard it was cut off, and that you were
otherwise mutilated."

"Oh, that's it, then!" and something like his old, mischievous smile
glimmered about Bob's mouth as he added: "They spared my arms, but,
Bell"--and he tried to look very solemn--"suppose I tell you that they
hacked off both my legs, and if you marry me, as you seem to think you
will, you must walk all your life by the side of wooden pins and
crutches?"

Bell knew by the curl of his lip that he was teasing her, and she
answered, laughingly:

"Wooden pins and crutches will be all the fashion when the war is over;
badges of honor of which any woman might be proud."

"Well, Bell," he replied, "I am afraid there is no such honor in store
for my wife, for if I ever get back my strength and the flesh upon my
bones, she must take me with legs and arms included. Not even a scratch
or wound of any kind with which to awaken sympathy."

He appeared very bright and cheerful, but when, after a moment, Bell
asked for Mark Ray, there came a shadow over his face, and with
quivering lips he told a tale which blanched Bell's cheek, and made her
shiver with pain and dread as she thought of Helen, the wife who had
never known the sweets of matrimony, and who would never taste them now,
for Mark was dead--shot down as he attempted to escape from the train
which took them from one place of torment to another. He was always
devising means of escape, succeeding several times, but was immediately
captured and brought back, or sent to some closer quarters, Robert said;
but his courage never deserted him, and in the muddy, filthy place where
they were herded like so many cattle, without shelter of any kind, he
was the life of them all, and by his presence kept many a poor fellow
from dying of homesickness and despair. But he was dead; there could be
no mistake, for Robert saw him when he jumped, heard the ball which went
whizzing after him, saw him as he fel