"Yes, in just a minute; for you know it does not take us Yankee girls long to dress," she responded, assuming a playfulness she did not at all feel. True to her word, however, in a marvelously short time she opened the door of the sick man's chamber softly and closed it again as noiselessly behind her. His face was turned towards the wall, and he did not move until she stood beside him. Softly laying her hand on his she whispered his name, "George St. Clair." A sudden flush of joy overspread his face as his fingers closed tightly over hers, while the response, "Anna, my good angel, how came you here?" burst from his lips. "How glad I am that I have not on that hated uniform. You will not despise me now? But tell me first how came you here?"
"Just as any one would who had not wings to fly; but my mission is to take care of you until you get well."
"I am unworthy. But talk to me of loved ones, of yourself, of everything."
A pleasant hour followed, and both were happier than they had been for many a day. Clouds were rising that were to cover the calm blue of the clear sky above them, but they saw them not.
How kind in the Father to deal out his chastenings as he does his blessings, one by one, else the poor heart could not bear them!
