Preston frowned and rolled his head over on the pillow.
"Confounded!" he muttered. "To be in such a den of Yankees!"
"You are ungrateful."
"I am not. I owe it to Yankee powder."
What, perhaps, had Southern powder done? I shivered inwardly, and for a moment forgot Preston.
"What is the matter?" said he. "You look queer; and it is very queer of you to spill my tea."
"Drink it then," I said, "and don't talk in such a way. I will not have you do it, Preston, to me."
He glanced at me, a little wickedly; but he had finished his breakfast and I turned from him. As I turned, I saw that the bed opposite, where Morton had died a few hours before, had already received another occupant. It startled me a little; this quick transition; this sudden total passing away; then, as I cast another glance at the newly come, my breath stood still. I saw eyes watching me, - I had never but once known such eyes; I saw an embrowned but very familiar face; as I looked, I saw a flash of light come into the eyes, quick and brilliant as I had seen such flashes come and go a hundred times. I knew what I saw.
It seems to me now in the retrospect, it seemed to me then, as if my life - that which makes life - were that moment suddenly gathered up, held before me, and then dashed under my feet; thrown down to the ground and trampled on. For a moment the sight of my eyes failed me. I think nobody noticed it. I think nothing was to be seen, except that I stood still for that minute. It passed, and my sight returned; and as one whose life is under foot and who knows it will never rise again, I crossed the floor to Thorold. We were not alone. Eyes and ears were all around us. Remembering this, I put my hand in his and said a simple -
"How do you do?"