“I do not think he understood the last. He only caught at the words, ‘your sister,’ and grasping my arm, he whispered hoarsely, ‘What of my sister? Have you seen her? Do you know her, and does she hate me now?’
“I told him I was your husband, and with quivering lip, he asked me, ‘Is she well, my precious little Rose, whom I remember as almost a child, and mother—has she cast me off? Oh, if she only knew how I am punished for my sin, she would forgive her wayward boy.’
“Here he broke down in such a wild storm of sobs and tears, that the inmates of the prison gathered in groups around him, their looks indicative of their surprise at witnessing so much emotion in one who up to that moment had appeared haughtily indifferent to everything around him. With an authoritative gesture he waved them off, and then, passing him your note, I, too, walked away, leaving him alone while he read it, but even where I stood I could hear the smothered sobs he tried in vain to suppress. I am inclined to think he is right in saying that joining the Confederate army was the best lesson he ever learned. I am sure he must be greatly changed from the reckless, daring boy, whose exploits you have described so often. He is very anxious to swear allegiance to the Stars and Stripes, even though he should be doomed to prison life for five more weary months, and as I am not a mere private now, and have considerable influence in Washington, I hope, ere long, to write that he is free, and on his way to Rockland, whither he will go first.
“Jimmie expresses the utmost sympathy for Tom, and says he would gladly take his place, if that could be, for he fears the inmates of those Richmond tobacco houses are not always cared for, as he has been at Washington. Poor Tom, I hope he will be among the list of the exchanged, and if so, you may expect soon to welcome both your brothers.”
No wonder Rose wept tears of joy over his letter, while her thoughts went after her rebellious, but repentant brother, nor tarried there, for, farther to the South, another weary captive pined, and every fibre of her heart bleed with sympathy for Tom—poor Tom, she always called him—and as the days of sickening suspense went by she grew so nervous and so ill that her mother came up from Boston to attend her, while Annie shook off her own feelings of weary languor, and did for Rose the same offices which Rose had once done for her.
“I do so wish you had been my sister,” Rose said to her one day, when she had been kinder than usual “I know I should be a better woman, and so would all of us.”
Annie made no reply, except to twine around her fingers the coils of chestnut hair, lying in such profusion upon the pillows. For a few moments Rose lay perfectly still, with her eyes fixed upon the paper bordering, as if counting the fanciful flowers, but her thoughts were intent upon a far different subject. Turning to her mother, she suddenly asked:
“How old is Jimmie, twenty-three, or twenty-four?”
“Twenty-three last May,” was the reply, and, with rather a troubled expression upon her face, Rose continued, “Will is thirteen years older than I am,” and the little curly head shook doubtfully.
“What are you talking about?” Mrs. Carleton asked, but Rose did not answer at once.