“What of him?” inquired Britomarte, suppressing a laugh.
“Missing—missing for nearly a year past. Dead, of course; lost among heaps of dead in the trenches, or the rivers, or the woods, or in the ditches of the Rebel prisons. Colonel Rosenthal has done all he could to discover traces of his fate, but in vain. And I really think the uncertainty wears upon the colonel.”
“Perhaps Wing may yet be found in some of the rebel prisons of Richmond,” suggested Britomarte.
“Heaven grant it. Yet it is not likely. Come, Miss Conyers; you look worn and wasted. Let me take you somewhere where you can be comfortably lodged and refreshed. Colonel O’Neill has his quarters at the Goldsborough House. His wife is with him. I know they will gladly welcome you. Will you let me take you there for the present?”
“Thanks, yes! Anywhere—anywhere—out of this horrible place!” said Britomarte.
Major Mim ordered an ambulance brought up, placed Miss Conyers in it, and conveyed her to the quarters of Colonel O’Neill, where she was warmly welcomed and affectionately tended by that gallant officer’s amiable wife.
CHAPTER XLIV.
AFTER A WHILE.
Kind hearts there are, yet would the tenderest one
Have limits to its mercy; God has none.
And man’s forgiveness may be true and sweet,