Joyce did not reply.
Calhoun lay silent for some time, and then suddenly said: “I am one of Morgan’s hated officers, and yet you are caring for me as for a brother. What makes you do it?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” said Joyce; “I have a dear brother in the army. I am only doing by you as I would have him done by, if he should fall wounded. And then—” Joyce stopped; she could not tell him it was her brother who had shot him.
A great light came to Calhoun. “Joyce! Joyce!” he cried, “I now understand. It was your brother who shot me.”
“Oh! forgive him! forgive him!” cried Joyce. [pg 273]“He told me it was to save his own life that he did it.”
“Why, Joyce, there is nothing to forgive. Your brother is a brave, a gallant officer. Then he has been here?”
“Yes, and knew you. He bade me nurse you as I would nurse him in like condition.”
“Just like a brave soldier; but are there none who find fault with my being here treated like a prince?”
“Yes, one. His name is Andrew Harmon. It was his horse you were riding when you came here. He seems to hate you, and is doing all he can to have you taken to Columbus. He says you treated him most brutally when he was captured.”
“I did kick him,” answered Calhoun, laughing; “he was on the ground bellowing like a baby. I never saw a more abject coward. I kicked him and told him to get up.”