for
letters any moment; but the last one was from Willard's, four days
since, saying they would have to stay. Miss Bessie was suddenly taken
ill. Won't the gentleman come in? and she will get the letter. He takes
off his cloak and forage cap, and steps reverently into the little
sitting-room, wherein every object is bathed in the sunshine of late
afternoon, and everywhere he sees traces of her handiwork. There on the
wall is Guthrie's picture; there hangs his honored sword and the sash he
wore when he led the charge at Seven Pines. With the soldier-spirit in
his heart, with the thrill of sympathy and comradeship that makes all
brave men kin, Abbot stands before that silent presentment of the man he
knew at college, and slowly stretches forth his hand and reverently
touches the sword-hilt of the buried officer. He is not unworthy; he,
too, has led in daring charge, and borne his country's flag through a
hell of carnage. They are brothers in arms, though one be gathered
already into the innumerable host beyond the grave. They are comrades in
spirit, though since college days no word has ever passed between them,
and Abbot's eyes fill with emotion he cannot repress as he thinks how
bitter a loss this son and brother has been to the stricken old father
and fragile sister. Ah! could he but have known, that day on the
Monocacy; could he but have read the truth in the old man's eyes, and
accepted as a fact his share of that mysterious correspondence rather
than have unwillingly dealt so cruel a blow! His lips move in a short,
silent prayer, that seems to well up from his very heart; and then the
housekeeper is at his side, and here is the doctor's letter. It is too
meagre of detail for his anxiety. He reads it twice, but it is all too
brief and bare. He is recalled to himself again. The housekeeper begs
pardon, but she is sure this must be Mr. Abbot, whose letters were so
eagerly watched for all the time before they went away. She had heard in
the village he was killed, and she is all a-quiver now, as he can see,
with excitement and suppressed feeling at his resurrection. Yes, this is
Mr. Abbot, he tells her, and he is going straight to Washington that he
may find them. And she shows him pictures of Bessie in her girlhood,
Bessie at school, Bessie in the bonnie dress she wore at the Soldiers'
Fair. Yes, he remembers having seen that very group before, at Edwards's
Ferry, before Ball's Bluff. She prattles about Bessie, and of Bes