“Mr. Frobisher recovered from an equally severe wound.”
“Yes, I know; but—”
“Miss Alice,” said a servant, entering the parlor, “there is a soldier at the door, who wants to speak to Marse Charley.”
Alice, going into the hall, found a man standing there. He was in his shirt-sleeves as to his right arm, which was bound in splints.
“Do you wish to see Major Frobisher?”
“Yes, ma’am; I have a letter for him.”
“You may give it to me; I am his wife.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, my orders was to give it to him, and nobody else.”
“Very well. Won’t you come in and have something to eat?”
“Thank you, ma’am; I shouldn’t mind a bite, if it wasn’t too much trouble.”