George Elliot has remarked that “when Death, the great Reconciler comes, it is not our leniency, but our harshness we repent of.”
The drug sounded taps a few minutes later for the second time that night. The cadets scattered silently to their tents, realizing that they would have to wait until the morrow to get tidings of poor Mallory’s fate.
It seemed, however, that West Point’s interest in the matter was so great that even military rules could not stand before it. The cadets had scarcely fallen asleep again, before several members of the guard went from tent to tent with the glad tidings from the hospital that Cadet Mallory and Miss Grace Fuller were conscious and would surely recover. And the news was sent by order of Lieutenant Allen himself.
Two days later Mark was lying upon a bed in the cadet hospital. We would scarcely have known Mark, to look at him; his face was pale and his arm trembled when he moved it. But Mark was happy for all that.
He was reaping the fruits of his bravery, then. He was still in pain, it is true; any one who has ever blistered one’s finger with fire may be able to imagine the feelings Mark got from those two bandaged hands of his. But he had forgotten all about that for a time.
The reason for that is not far to seek. The sunlight as it streamed into that room was reflected from a wealth of golden hair that in turn lit up Mark’s pale features. It was Grace Fuller who was sitting by his bedside; and Grace Fuller was trying to thank him for what he had done for her.
Her tone was low and earnest as she spoke:
“Mark,” she said—“I have never called you Mark before, but I will now, if you will let me—the debt I owe to you I can never repay; but if true friendship is anything you may have that. That is all I can give.”
Mark answered nothing; but he gazed at the girl earnestly.
“This is the second time,” continued she, “that you have been in this hospital for me. I do not know what others think of it, but I know that I shall never forget it as long as I live.”