"Do you remember the agreement we made?"
She turned, surprised, her lashes still wet.
"I didn't hear you coming," she answered. "You mean when I said I should like to be invited to walk through Louisburg?"
"Yes."
"I should be glad, by and by, if you have leisure; although I suppose that everybody will have that now."
He smiled. "If you saw Pepperell's tasks, you wouldn't think so."
"Then, I suppose that you are busy, too, and everybody else?"
"Yes. Shall I come for you at sunset?"
The words seemed to sound over and over again in Elizabeth's ears,—words, in themselves, almost ungracious, but which his tone had made to mean, "No business ranks your pleasure." Already they had returned to the courtesies of peace. She could not answer in a different spirit; she must abide by the idle words he had remembered, and go. Her work here was over. Many of her patients had been sent home, and all were well cared for now.
Sunset in the middle of June, and in that latitude, was only the burnished gate-way to a beautiful twilight that lingered as if loath to leave the land it loved. The city lay as tranquil as if no bombshell had ever burst over it, or no alien force now held possession of it. Soldiers were everywhere; but order reigned. Voices were heard, and laughter; but not even rudeness assailed the inhabitants, who, while waiting for transportation, had received a promise of protection in their shattered homes. These ventured out now, in the new immunity from cannon-balls, to examine the ruins of their city.