"Perhaps it will. Well, it is this: I am going to him. He will need tender care, and I will bestow it. You, dear girl, must take my place here; will you?"
"Yes, Anna, but—"
"No matter; you know I was to give you my matured decision, so do not imagine that it is possible for me to waver."
"Your mother, Anna; what will she say?"
"She will not hinder me. But I shall expect you to be a daughter to her as well as to your own parents. All will need you to cheer them during my absence. I shall place them in your care with the full faith that all will be well."
"I cannot understand you, Anna. I came here faint and trembling at the very thought of his sufferings, to find you all ready to go to his relief, willing to sacrifice home for only a friend, while I, his sister, had not supposed such a thing possible."
"Only a friend." Was this true? Could sympathy alone have compelled such a sacrifice? Memories of other days came stealing in upon her senses like sweet odors from a far-off land, but she thrust them aside, and kissing the upturned face before her, said, smilingly:
"Never mind, dear; perhaps you will know me better some day. You are, however, mistaken in thinking me all ready, for I shall be obliged to wait until Monday to finish my preparations. I shall gather a few luxuries with many little things that I feel I shall require; so let us go to work and banish present sorrow with busy hands."
True to her purpose, in three days Anna emerged from her baptism of benedictions and farewells, and, laden with endearing messages and tokens of love for the suffering one, stepped on board the "Vanderbilt," that was to bear her forward on her chosen errand of mercy. Numerous and varied were the emotions that took possession of her heart as, when alone seated on the deck of the noble steamer, she found time at last for calm reflection. Would she find him alive? And would he be glad to see her? Then came stealing into her thoughts the unwelcome fact, like the whisperings of the serpent in the garden of flowers: "He is a rebel!" The suggestions ran on; "will it be possible to minister to the necessities of one like him without incurring censure? A rebel!" Tears came to her eyes. She had taken no time for weeping since the sad news reached her, but now she gave free vent to them although knowing that curious eyes were upon her. But sorrow was no uncommon spectacle in those days of bereavement and heart-breakings. Then came a thought as softly as steals the soft sunbeam that dries up the summer rain: "My brothers are safe; his hand is powerless now to do them harm. Who knows but he will cease to contend for a cause he has not loved; to struggle for a victory his heart never desired."