“Oh, of course,” grumbled Elfie. “Some one or other of your friends are always making you uneasy, plague take them!”
“But, Elfie, I am afraid she is ill.”
“Mrs. Burton would have sent you word.”
“Yes, I hope she would. And then, to be sure, I have no more reason to wonder at her mysterious absence than my poor soldiers have to wonder at mine. Oh, Elfie, think of it! I never missed a day visiting them before, and now three days have passed since I have been to see them. What will the poor fellows think?” sighed Erminie.
“Whatever they think, it will not be to the effect that you are neglecting them. Perhaps they fancy that you are a little worn with your exertions in their behalf, and they hope to see you soon again.”
“Oh, Elfie! many a poor fellow that I hoped to see again has passed away in these three days, I know. They die every day. No day do I go without missing some familiar face,” sighed Erminie.
“See here, my dear! your pretty shoulders are tolerably fine ones for a young woman. But I doubt if they are so strong as to be able to bear the burdens of all the world. You have done what you could for the brave fellows. Continue to do what you can; and for the rest trust them to their Heavenly Father and ours, you weeping philosopher,” said Elfie.
“That is good advice, dear; and I will try to follow it. I am no weeping philosopher, Elfie. But to-night I believe I am despondent because broken down by the events of the last twenty-four hours.”
“Then you must go to bed and try to get some sleep. In the morning you will feel better.”
“I think I will go, Elfie; and I do hope I shall feel better; for to-morrow we must make our rounds of the hospitals, and also look up Britomarte, unless she should first make her appearance here,” said Erminie, rising from the tea table.