“I do suppose it is. And yet I do not know. But certainly, though I have always been in good health, I never felt so well in my life as I do now. I feel as if some strong, divine elixir in my brains gave me a new sense of life. But I am talking too much of myself and my own sensations. What nonsense. Let us speak of something else. Young Ethel. I have a great respect for that gallant young officer, Elfie. And if your father comes to make us any sort of a long visit, I shall invite Ethel to stop at the parsonage, as he did during his last sojourn in Washington,” said Miss Rosenthal.
“That will be very agreeable only it will curtail us of our liberties. No more sailing all over the house, at all hours of the day and night, in our white wrappers and slippers,” replied Elfie.
And so chatting, the young ladies went on their way, that bright summer morning, towards the hospital.
From ward to ward Erminie went, carrying everywhere the same bright smile that shone with such strange, supernal beauty that morning.
And the soldiers whom she cheered and comforted said to each other, when she had passed by, how she looked—like an angel from Heaven, with the celestial light still around her.
They walked the rounds of three other hospitals, and then Erminie spoke of turning their steps homeward.
But Elfie remonstrated.
“I’ll tell you what, Miss Rosenthal, you may be exhilarated by some divine elixir, or you may be borne on by invisible wings, but as for me, I have nothing but my mortal flesh and blood and bones to uphold me, and I am just so tired that my limbs are ready to bend under me, and my back aches as if I were a hundred years old,” she said.
“Under these circumstances we must take a carriage, I suppose,” smiled Erminie.
And the carriage was called, and they drove home.