"Have you any old linen left about the house that could be useful among the wounded?"
"I have sent off a good deal, but have some left. In what form do you want it? As lint, or bandages?"
"Neither; pack it just as it is, and send it on by express. I can't carry the world on my shoulders."
"Anything else?"
"Write to the overseer's wife to sow all the mustard-seed she can lay her hands on, and save all the sage she can. And, Irene, be sure to send me every drop of honey you can spare. That is all, I believe. If I think of anything else, I will write you."
He stooped, kissed her forehead, and hurried out to his buggy.
CHAPTER XXVIII
A CONFESSION
The summer day was near its death when Colonel Aubrey rode up the stately avenue, whose cool green arches were slowly filling with shadows. Fastening his spirited horse to the iron post, he ascended the marble steps, and John received his card, and ushered him into the front parlour. The next moment Irene stood at the door; he turned his head, and they were face to face once more.