“I—I know him,” answered Stephen. He stepped quickly to the bedside, and bent over it. “Colfax!” he said. “Colfax!”
“This is too much, Jennison,” came from the bed a voice that was pitifully weak; “why do you bring Yankees in here?”
“Captain Brice is a friend of yours, Colfax,” said the Colonel, tugging at his mustache.
“Brice?” repeated Clarence, “Brice? Does he come from St. Louis?”
“Do you come from St. Louis, sir?”
“Yes. I have met Captain Colfax—”
“Colonel, sir.”
“Colonel Colfax, before the war! And if he would like to go to St. Louis, I think I can have it arranged at once.”
In silence they waited for Clarence's answer Stephen well knew what was passing in his mind, and guessed at his repugnance to accept a favor from a Yankee. He wondered whether there was in this case a special detestation. And so his mind was carried far to the northward to the memory of that day in the summer-house on the Meramee heights. Virginia had not loved her cousin then—of that Stephen was sure. But now,—now that the Vicksburg army was ringing with his praise, now that he was unfortunate—Stephen sighed. His comfort was that he would be the instrument.
The lady in her uneasiness smoothed the single sheen that covered the sick man. From afar came the sound of cheering, and it was this that seemed to rouse him. He faced them again, impatiently.