"A Confederate?" queried Anna, with some agitation. "Do you know his name?"
"Colonel St. Clair. Why, my dear girl, how strangely you look! Is he a friend of yours?"
"He is. Is he severely wounded?"
"Badly, I believe, yet I do not know how. Would you like to see him to-night?"
"No, unless he needs my services."
"I think he was sleeping when I came down. The surgeon was here an hour ago, and his negro servant is with him now."
"Then I will not disturb him. In the morning I will go."
Anna Pierson forgot her weariness as she seated herself with her writing desk to finish up her day's toils by penning the promised letters of sympathy and condolence to the friends of those who had that day entered the silent land where there would be no more war; and when all was finished thoughts of home, and loved ones waiting there, came and she wrote on, closing with the promise to finish on the morrow after she had seen him whom she came to seek. And then she slept.
Before the night had gathered up all its dark shadows there came a low rap on her door which aroused her, and, springing from her bed, wondered how she could have slept so long. Mrs. Howard entered.
"I am sorry to awake you so soon," she said, "but he seems so anxious to have you come to him, that I could not well wait longer. I told him there was a lady here to see him, but would not tell him your name. He appears a little brighter this morning, and says he rested pretty well," she continued. "Shall I tell him you are coming?"