THE "PHANTOM" REMOVED.
"Hands to work and hearts to God," once said Emerson, while Tennyson adds: "In this windy world what's up is faith, what's down is heresy!" Anna was nervous and restless as she thought over these things, and all of the next night lay tossing upon her bed, vainly endeavoring to woo the gentle slumbers that would not come to her. It seemed so sad now that it was all over, and it was strange that George St. Clair should have dismissed her so coldly! It was not her fault that she could not dispel this "phantom" as he called it; yet he pitied her! Was this the panacea he strove so hard to apply to her wounded soul? True, she asked him for it, yet pride rebelled at its application! Pity! The long, weary hours were filled with exciting whispers, and ever and anon the chilling words, "I will trouble you no longer," fell like hard, cold pebbles into her sensitive soul. At last summoning all her fortitude she congratulated herself that on the morrow Mrs. St. Clair and Ellen would arrive. Then she could return home, where silently and alone she would dig a grave in some lonely recess of her stricken heart and bury her two great sorrows side by side! To-morrow! The clock struck five and the sound of feet were heard below. The night had passed! She arose from her bed and opened the window. One star yet faintly glimmered just above the eastern horizon, up which the first morning beams were slowly creeping. Calmly and peacefully it looked into the troubled upturned face so full of sorrow and flushed with weeping, until Anna thought that in its pensive gaze there was such pity as the angels might bestow upon their weary earth-born sisters. Then her thoughts wandered away to those who would be weary no more; whose foot-prints would never more be seen along the dusty highway of life, for they were resting now, their journeys over, their spirits freed from their crumbling prison-houses! At rest! The pale tranquil light of the lonely star grew paler and more feeble as she continued to gaze upon it, for a new day was approaching, and in the glory of its brightness the tiny light was to be swallowed up. Fading, changing, everywhere! How sad a lesson is life! How rugged and thorny the way through it! "To look up is faith," repeated Anna again; "Thou wilt show me the path of life; in Thy presence is fullness of joy; at Thy right hand there are pleasures forevermore! Hush!" It was not her own voice to which she was listening, but the echoing of her poor pleading heart which had suddenly remembered that to look down where all the dreary shadows were clustered was "heresy." The day was before her heavily laden with duties. Why should she grope under the clouds where were doubts and unbeliefs? By and by it may be she too would rest! A step along the hall startled her. It was that of the black servant leaving his master's room. "How faithful he has been," she thought, "while I have only brought discomforts where I had so desired to bring relief." It was over now; her dream of hope, of love, of life! All was over; yet her hand still clasped the "golden bowl," and the "silver cord" was not broken! There was sweet water still in the fountain, although at times it might seem bitter to the taste.
She was standing by the mirror arranging the braids of her dark hair as these reflections were passing through her mind. "How changed I am," she continued, "not only in mind but in face! Perplexities and disappointments are making sad havoc with my good looks! I must away from this," and after preparing herself for a walk she hastened to the hospital. She filled the moments of the laggard morning full of untiring work by the side of the young nurse who flitted among the cots where anxious, loving eyes watched for her coming and grew dim as she disappeared from their sight. Still her thoughts were roving and regrets came to disturb her as she remembered that no more could she place the cup of cold water to fevered lips, or with her words soothe troubled minds. She was going home to bury her dead, while so many were to remain to be buried by stranger hands! The voice of the nurse recalled her.
"There was a big skirmish down the river last night and some of our officers were disabled and are to be brought here to-day, we are informed by telegram!" and she walked on where an upraised hand was beckoning.
"Who knows but my poor brother is one of the fallen?" Anna mused as she proceeded towards her temporary home.
It was nearly dinner-time and she must not let the whole day pass without visiting the lonely one under her own roof. True, he had not invited her to come again at the close of their last interview, but he had hinted a wish that she should read the morning papers to him on her return, Mrs. Howard had said. She had hoped to escape this, but she was calmer now. Herbert was gone; men might be falling on the battle field any day! It was the hand of war, not of individuals, that was slaying the mothers' and sisters' loved ones all over the land! Poor heart! The tidal wave was receding, but the waters underneath were black and unfathomable!
"He is better, I think," Mrs. Howard went on to say, "and in a few days, no doubt, will be able to sit up in an easy chair part of the time. He asked a while ago if you had returned from the hospital, and looked, as he always does, a little out of patience that you should devote so much of your time to others."
Anna was not listening as her hostess bustled about the table prattling in an unusual manner, as it was evident that she was probing with her feminine curiosity deeper than had been her wont, and it seemed the duty of her victim to push the intruding hand away.
"But you will go to him?" was the abrupt query at last.
"It is my intention," and Anna passed into the hall. The door of the sick man's chamber was open, and before she had reached the upper landing she heard her name called.