She turned on me one of her swift looks, which always gave me the impression that she saw all that was in my mind. Her color rose a little, but she continued playing for a time. Then with her right hand evoking low, sweet chords, she asked, with a conciliatory smile:
"Have you been thinking over Mrs. Yocomb's words this afternoon?"
"Not all the time—no. Have you?"
"How could I all the time?"
"Oh, I think you can do anything under heaven you make up your mind to do," I said, with a slight laugh. The look she gave now was a little apprehensive, and I added hastily: "I've had one thought that I don't mind telling you, for I think it may be a pleasant one, though it must recall that which is painful. The thought occurred to me when Mrs. Yocomb was speaking, and since, that your brother had perfect peace as he stood in that line of battle."
She turned eagerly toward me, and tears rushed into her eyes.
"You may be right," she said, in a low, tremulous tone.
"Well, I feel sure I'm right. I know it, if he was anything like you."
"Oh, then I doubt it. I'm not at all brave as he was. You ought to know that."
"You have the courage that a veteran general most values in a soldier. You might be half dead from terror, but you wouldn't run away. Besides," I added, smiling, "you would not be afraid of shot and shell, only the noise of a battle. In this respect your brother, no doubt, differed from you. In the grand consciousness of right, and in his faithful performance of duty, I believe his face was as serene as the aspect of Mr. Yocomb when he looked at the coming storm. As far as peace is concerned, his heaven began on earth. I envy him."