"Every honest Christian soul will nathless wish to do so," replied Mistress Mabel, with a severe look at Bessie.
The little girl felt the reproof, and when she went upstairs she put away all her bright ribbons and the gay dresses that had been worn at her sister's wedding. "I don't mind wearing the black hood and wimple, Maud," she said; "but then I thought people wore mourning because they felt sorry, and I can't feel so sorry about the Archbishop as I did about Harry going away."
"Of course not, dear, because——"
"But aunt seems to think we ought," interrupted the little girl; "and father never looked so sorry about Harry as he did to-day about the Archbishop."
"Your father may not let us see how sorry he is about Harry," said Maud, "but I am sure he is often thinking of him."
Maud spoke of this as though she were sure it was so, as in truth she was. She had noticed a great alteration in her guardian lately. His hair was rapidly changing from brown to silver white, his tall erect form was bowed as with the weight of an added twenty years; and she thought with a keen pang that if Harry did not soon come he would never see his father again. And then arose the question, where was Harry?—for no news had come but that one voice from the battle-field, telling them he was sick and wounded.
