“Neither the one nor the other, dear Lilian. I have naturally a great dread of pain, and do not think myself possessed of a large share of that moral courage in which your sex excel, and which is the only kind which will bear the test of suffering. As to pride, it is sadly out of place on a sick-bed, even if it had the power to deaden a sense of pain, which I very much doubt.”
“What is it then that makes you so desirable a patient? for, excepting my aunt, I never saw any one bear pain as you do.”
“Shall I tell you, my Lilian? It is the taking home to my heart, and appropriating that precious promise, ‘My grace is sufficient for thee, for my strength is made perfect in weakness.’ In myself I am all weakness; but if an almighty arm is underneath and around me, I have all the strength and support I need. God grant that you may know from your own experience the blessedness of which I speak.”
Tears were in the eyes of Lilian as she answered,
“With such examples as I have had before me, I can never doubt the reality of the religion of Jesus, and I would give worlds, if I had them, to feel its power; but it seems impossible for me to obtain such a blessing.”
“Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved,” was the reply. “And now, dear Lilian, I must send you from me to visit our poor patient up stairs, who needs you even more than I do, if that were possible.”
A few days previous to this conversation, Lilian was passing through one of the rooms in which lay some rebel officers who had been recently brought in from Virginia. Most of them were hopeless cases, and the sight was so painful to the young girl, that she passed on rapidly, until her steps were arrested by the exclamation, “Miss Grey! can it be possible?” She turned and saw, though she could hardly recognize in the pallid face and emaciated form before her, Lieut. Carter, the betrothed of her cousin, the rebel officer whose desertion of his country’s flag had caused them all so much unhappiness. It was a very painful meeting to Lilian, and her first impulse was to leave the room instantly; but death was stamped on every feature of the young man, and humanity triumphed. She approached the bedside, and said kindly,
“Mr. Carter, I can stay but a moment. Is there any thing I can do for you, or that you wish to say to me?”
The sick man replied bitterly,
“I see how it is; you all hate and despise me; but I cannot help it. I am a Southerner, and would not desert my brethren in arms though I lost every friend on earth. What I have done I would do again in the same circumstances.”