"Then you had better do it," answered Mrs. Ruthven, with, however, but little sympathy in her voice.
"I will go to bed at once."
"You must not forget that your cousin, Harry Powell, is in the army."
"Yes, on the Yankee side."
"Still he is brave enough to go. Marion may think a good deal of him on that account."
"Well, I would go, for Marion's sake, if I felt at all well," groaned St. John. "But I am in for a regular spell of sickness, I feel certain of it."
"Then go to bed."
"Write Colonel Raymond a note stating that I am in bed, and tell him I would join the ranks if I possibly could," groaned St. John, and then dragged himself upstairs and retired. Here he called for a negro servant and had a man go for a doctor.
Much disgusted, Mrs. Mary Ruthven penned the note, and sent it to town, shielding her son's true character as much as possible.
For the remainder of the day St. John stayed in bed, and whenever a servant came into his room he would groan dismally.