UNCHRONICLED CONFLICTS
Graham's friends were eager that he should obtain leave of absence, but he said, "No, not until some time in the winter."
His aunt understood him sufficiently well not to urge the matter, and it may be added that Grace did also.
Hilland's arm healed rapidly, and happy as he was in his home life at the cottage he soon began to chafe under inaction. Before very long it became evident that the major had not wholly outlived his influence at Washington, for there came an order assigning Major Hilland to duty in that city; and thither, accompanied by Grace and her father, he soon repaired. The arrangement proved very agreeable to Hilland during the period when his regiment could engage in little service beyond that of dreary picket duty. He could make his labors far more useful to the government in the city, and could also enjoy domestic life with his idolized wife. Mrs. Mayburn promised to join them after the holidays, and the reason for her delay was soon made evident.
One chilly, stormy evening, when nature was in a most uncomfortable mood, a card was brought to the door of Hilland's rooms at their inn just as he, with his wife and the major, was sitting down to one of those exquisite little dinners which only Grace knew how to order. Hilland glanced at the card, and gave such a shout that the waiter nearly fell over backward.
"Where is the gentleman? Take me to him on the double-quick. It's Graham. Hurrah! I'll order another dinner!" and he vanished, chasing the man downstairs and into the waiting-room, as if he were a detachment of Confederate cavalry. The decorous people in the hotel parlor were astounded as Hilland nearly ran over the breathless waiter at the door, dashed in like a whirlwind, and carried off his friend, laughing, chaffing, and embracing him all the way up the stairs. It was the old, wild exuberancy of his college days, only intensified by the deepest and most grateful emotion.
Grace stood within her door blushing, smiling, and with tears of feeling in her lovely eyes.
"Here he is," cried Hilland—"the very god of war. Give him his reward,
Grace—a kiss that he will feel to the soles of his boots."
But she needed no prompting, for instead of taking Graham's proffered hand, she put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him again and again, exclaiming, "You saved Warren's life; you virtually gave yours for his; and in saving him you saved me. May God bless you every hour you live!"
"Grace," he said, gravely and gently, looking down into her swimming eyes and retaining her hands in a strong, warm clasp, "I am repaid a thousand-fold. I think this is the happiest moment of my life;" and then he turned to the major, who was scarcely less demonstrative in his way than Hilland had been.