“Good-bye, dear Miss Mary!” and stepped back into the wagon and resumed his seat.
Seeing a large, square old house, which appeared to be full of people, Thomie and I advanced toward it a few steps. Suddenly, as if admonished that a soldier’s duties should have precedence over everything else, he took me in his arms and kissed me fervently once, twice, thrice. I understood for whom they were intended—that trio of kisses. Not a word did he speak, and when he turned his back on me I saw him brush off the silent tears, and more than one step was uneven before his nerves became steady and he ready to report for duty. I felt intuitively that I should never look upon his face again, and I watched him with riveted eyes until I could no longer see him, and then I gazed upon the vehicle containing him until it, too, disappeared forever from my sight. Then, and not till then, I gave way to pent-up sorrow, and cried as one without hope—unreservedly.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE RETURN HOME.
From Jonesboro via Augusta—Scenes and Incidents by the way—The lonely journey from Stone Mountain to Decatur.
Dazed by a full realization that my brother and every male relative and friend were in the octopus arms of war, cruel and relentless, I stood riveted to the spot where my brother had parted from me, until a gentle hand touched my shoulder, and a pleasant voice gave me friendly greeting. Turning I saw Mrs. Anderson, sister of the brave and gallant Robert Alston, whose tragic fate is known to every reader in this country.
“I am glad to see you. I have just seen your brother Robert,” I said.
“Where? Where? Do tell me that I may go to him!” cried his devoted sister, laughing and weeping alternately.