“I thank you, sir,” said Emmie with a smile; “but I think I can walk.”
“Well,” said the gentleman who had spoken before, “I saw him carry you from the wreck to this place; and I am bound to say, I never saw a mother handle her baby more tenderly.”
“I am very grateful to him for what he has done for me,” added Emmie with a slight blush; “and if I needed his services, I certainly should accept his kind offer.”
She took the arm of her father, and walked very well till she came to the steep bank, whose ascent required more strength than she then possessed. Her father and Lieutenant Somers then made a “hand-chair,” and bore her up to the car, in which she was as comfortably disposed as the circumstances would permit. The train started with its melancholy freight of wounded, dead and dying.
“I see, sir, you are an officer in the army,” said Mr. Guilford as the train moved off; “but I have not yet learned your name.”
“Thomas Somers, sir,” replied our young officer.
“I must trouble you to write it down for me, with your residence when at home, and your regiment in the field.”
Lieutenant Somers complied with this request, and in return the gentleman gave him his address.
“I shall never forget you, Lieutenant Somers,” said Mr. Guilford when he had carefully deposited the paper in his memorandum-book. “I have it in my power to be of service to you; and if you ever want a friend, I shall consider it a favor if you will come to me, or write to me.”
“Thank you, sir; I am very much obliged to you. But I hope you won’t consider yourself under any obligations to me for what I have done. I couldn’t have helped doing it if I had tried.”