"He was wounded in the arm at Manassa, but retains command of his regiment, and is doing very well. Dr. Arnold is the regimental surgeon, and in one of his letters to me he mentioned that your cousin's wound was not serious."
"I am going to him immediately."
"Unfortunately, you will not be allowed to do so. The wounded were removed to Richmond as promptly as possible, but your cousin remained at Manassa, where ladies are not permitted."
"Then I will write to him to meet me in Richmond."
Irene made no reply, and, watching her all the while, Electra asked—
"When did you see him last? How did he look?"
"The day before he started to Richmond. He was very well, I believe, but looked harassed and paler than usual. He is so robust, however, that I think you need entertain no apprehension concerning his health."
The inflexible features, the low, clear, firm voice were puzzling, and Electra's brow thickened and darkened as she thought—
"Her father is dead now; there is no obstacle remaining. She must love him, and yet she gives no sign of interest."
Two days later, they sat together before one of the parlour windows. Electra was engaged in tearing off and rolling bandages, while Irene slowly scraped lint from a quantity of old linen, which filled a basket at her side. Neither had spoken for some time; the sadness of their occupation called up gloomy thoughts; but finally Electra laid down a roll of cloth, and, interlacing her slight fingers, said—