The tears once started could not be repressed, and Mrs. Carleton and Jimmie finished their supper alone, for Annie excused herself, and hastening to her room, poured out her grief in tears and prayers for the poor sick boy, pining in his dreary prison home, while mingled with her tears was a note of thanksgiving that to her had been given the comfort of knowing that the death pillow of her darling was smoothed with friendly hands, and that no harsh, discordant sounds of prison riot or discipline had disturbed his peaceful dying.
Meantime Jimmie had returned to his sister, whose first question was for Annie. “What did he think of her? Wasn’t she sweet, and hadn’t she the prettiest blue eyes he ever saw?”
“I hardly saw them, for she is evidently coy of her glances at a Rebel,” Jimmie answered, half playfully, half bitterly, for Annie’s manner of quiet reserve had piqued him more than he cared to confess.
“She’s bashful,” Rose replied; “and then, Jimmie, you can’t expect her to forgive you as readily as your own sister, for you know she never saw you till to-night, and she’s a true patriot; but say, did you ever see so sweet a face—one that made you think so much of an angel?”
“Rather too pale to suit my taste. I like high color better,” and Jimmie pinched Rose’s glowing cheek until she screamed for him to stop.
“It’s all going wrong, I know,” Rose began, poutingly. “You don’t like Annie a bit, and she’s so good, too. You can’t begin to guess how good. And there’s nothing blue about her, either. Why, she’s a heap more cheerful than I could be if Will were dead, as George is. I’d die too,—I know I should; but Annie’s a real Christian, and that does make a difference. It seems to be all through her, and she lives it every minute. I honestly believe I’m better than before she came. She has actually persuaded me not to get up big dinners on Sunday, as I used to do, but to let all the servants go to church, and every night she goes for half an hour into the kitchen and teaches old black Phillis how to read the Bible. She’s so truthful, too. Why, she said she presumed that little Pequot girl would not have liked you any way after she heard that Dick Lee was not your name.”
“The Pequot girl! How came Mrs. Graham to hear of her?” Jimmie asked, his face flushing crimson.
“Oh, I happened to ask mother something about her one day, right before Annie, and so, of course, explained a little. It would not have been polite if I hadn’t,” Rose replied, adding, as she saw her brother’s evident chagrin, “you need not mind one bit, for Annie never tells anything.”
It was not the fearing she would tell which affected Jimmie unpleasantly; it was the feeling that he would rather Annie Graham should not know of all his delinquencies, and so despise him accordingly. How unfortunate it was that she was there, and yet he would not have sent her away if he could, though he did wish she were not so well posted with regard to his affairs, both past and present. What made Rose tell her of the Pequot, and why had the Pequot haunted him ever since he came into that house? Something had brought her to his mind, and as the servant just then came in, bringing her mistress’s supper, he left his seat by Rose, and walking to the window looked out upon the starry sky, wondering within himself where she was now, the little girl who had sat with him upon the rocks, and told him it was wicked to break God’s fourth command. The scene which Annie saw at the supper table was present with him now, remembered, for the first time, since the battle at Bull Run. Then, as he lay waiting for the foe, he had in fancy heard again a sweet, girlish voice, bidding him keep holy the Sabbath day, and the tear which dropped upon his gun was prompted by the thought of all he had passed through since the happy school-boy days when the Pequot preached to him her gentle sermons.
In the hall there was a rapid footstep, and Rose called out: