en I went to Wilford's grave. Forgive me, Katy, if I did wrong in
wishing to kneel once upon the sod which covered him. I prayed for you
while there, remembering only that you had been his wife. In a little
box where no eyes but mine ever look, there is a bunch of flowers
plucked from Wilford's grave. They are faded now and withered, but
something of their sweet perfume lingers still; and I prize them as my
greatest treasure, for, except the lock of raven hair severed from his
head, they are all that is remaining to me of the past, which now seems
so far away. It is time to make my nightly round of visits, so I must
bid you good-by. The Lord lift up the light of His countenance upon you,
and be with you forever.

"MARIAN HAZELTON."

For a long time Katy held this letter in her hand, wondering if the
sorrowful woman whose life was once so strangely blended with that of
Marian Hazelton and the pale occupant of that grave at Greenwood, whence
the flowers came, could be the Katy Grant who sat by the evening fire at
Linwood, with no shadow on her brow, and only the sunshine of perfect
happiness resting on her heart. "Truly, He doeth all things well to
those who wait upon Him," she thought, as she laid down Marian's letter
and took up the third and last, Helen's letter, dated at Fortress
Monroe, whither with Mark Ray she had gone just after Bell Cameron's
bridal.

"You cannot imagine," she wrote, "the feelings of awe and even terror
which steal over me the nearer I get to the seat of war, and the more I
realize the bloody strife we have been engaged in, and which, thank God,
has now so nearly ceased. You have heard of John Jennings, the noble man
who saved my dear husband's life, and of Aunt Bab, who helped in the
good work? Both are here. It seems that suspicion was aroused against
them at last, and Bab was cruelly whipped to make her confess where a
Union prisoner was hidden; but, though the blows cut deep into her back,
bringing the blood at every stroke, she never uttered a word; and with
her wounds all smarting as they were, she helped the poor boy off, and
then with her master, John Jennings, started for the North. I never saw
Mark more pleased than when seized around the neck by two long, brawny
arms, while a cheery voice called out: 'Hello, old chap, has you done
forgot John Jennin's?' I verily believe Mark cried, and I know I did,
especially when old Bab came up and shook 'young misses' hand.' I kissed
her, Katy--