"I have been thinking," continued the other lady, after a long pause, "that we must follow the noble example of the patriotic ladies of Washington and visit the hospitals. We might do great good there. Kindly hearts and willing hands will, without doubt, be in great demand on the present occasion. As for me, I am anxious to be about the work," and she turned to the window.
"A grand thought, and shows conclusively that you have remarkable diplomatic powers, altogether unlooked for in our sex. I shall be ready to follow your lead in such a noble suggestion at our earliest convenience; but it will never do to go empty-handed. The poor fellows will need many things. If we are to be ministering angels, you know, we must take the oil and wine."
How different from all this were the feelings and aspirations of the little group gathered together in the widow's cottage on the banks of the grand old Hudson. Three days after the above conversation in Washington, Anna Pierson returned from the village post-office, as was her custom, bearing in her hand several papers, which were distributed as usual.
"No letters, Mother," was the prompt reply to the anxious, inquiring look as she entered. "It is not time, unless they were written immediately, and we should not expect that."
Her words were cheerful, for she had carefully prepared them during her walk; but her heart was troubled with fearful apprehensions, and she dared not consult one of those silent messengers that were clasped so tightly in her hand until she had entered her own room and seated herself by the window. Then she cast her eyes over the long columns: "The Great Battle! From our own Correspondent." Why did she not read further? She had longed all day for that very article, and now that it was before her, her eyes turned towards the clouds in the west as though her thoughts were all centered within their shadowy folds. Ah, there are many hearts to-day wherein these sad memories still linger. They could tell why Anna Pierson did not read, why she shrank from the terrible revelations that might be before her. There were many names included in the correspondent's letter over which her eyes hurriedly ran.
"Thank God!" Fell from her lips as she reached the end of the list without seeing a familiar name; but below was a P. S.:
"I have just learned that Col. St. Clair of the Confederate army has been brought into our lines dangerously wounded."
The paper dropped upon the floor beside her as she sat silent and motionless among the falling shadows, until a timid rap on the door startled her. In a moment Ellen entered, and without a word threw herself at Anna's feet, and, hiding her face in her companion's dress, wept aloud. An arm stole softly about her neck and a hand smoothed caressingly the dark braids of her hair.
"Don't, O don't, dear Ellen," she said; "let us talk together. I have been a full half-hour coming to a conclusion regarding my duty in this terrible crisis. Listen, now, while I tell you my determination." These words of love were so gentle and kind, and her voice so full of sympathy, that Ellen soon found herself soothed and comforted under their tender influences.
"Yes, Anna, do tell me, for I was never at such a loss regarding my own duty as now, and perhaps your decision may aid me."