Jack’s influence, he counted, would soon relieve him from the hardships of confinement, and then he should see Olympia—­that, at least, was recompense for his misfortune.  His mother and Rosa would immediately learn of his capture, and he might count upon hearing from them, as very generous latitude was allowed in such cases by the authorities on both sides.  He caused a letter to be written to Jack, addressing it to his regiment, in care of the War Department, and waited patiently the response.  His disappointment and anxiety, as days passed and he got no answer, began to tell on his health, already weakened by his wounds.  Thus, one day, when a young lady was shown to his bedside—­who fell upon him with a glad cry, and held his head to her breast—­he was too far gone in delirium to distinguish his sister.

“My darling!  O Olympia, I knew you would come,” he murmured, and Rosa, terrified, but composed, soothed the fevered lover as best she might.  He grew worse in spite of all her devotion.  The physicians, burdened with patients far in excess of their powers, assured her that her brother would require the most patient care and enlightened nursing; that medicine would do him but slight good, and that she must make up her mind to a prolonged illness.  Rosa was alone in the vast hospital, save for the presence of her maid Linda, who had come through the lines with her and was, of course, under the Northern laws, free.  Worse than all, she was poorly provided with money, and this need, rather than Vincent’s love-lorn babbling about Olympia, reminded Rosa to call upon the Spragues for help.  She wrote at once to Olympia, telling the distressing story, and then set about bettering Vincent’s surroundings.

Point Lookout had been selected for its natural prison-like safeguards.  A rank bog surrounded the place on three sides, and thus but few troops were needed to guard the great mass of rebel prisoners lodged in wooden barracks and long lines of tents.  Vincent’s case seemed to have grown stationary after her coming.  He slept a fitful, troubled sleep half the day.  At night he grew delirious and restless.  Rosa and Linda divided the hours into watches, and administered the draughts prepared by the stewards.  Through the humanity of the physician in charge, the invalid had been transferred to an A tent, where Rosa could remain day and night unmolested with her maid.  Vincent thus cared for, Rosa began to think of the other poor fellows in her brother’s squadron, and set about a systematic search for them.  Many of them she found in the general wards of the hospital.  It was on this kindly mission one day that she heard her brother’s name mentioned by a civilian, who was talking with an official in uniform.

“Major Atterbury?  Oh, yes; he was removed to division D. You will find him in a separate tent.  He has a woman nurse.  I will send an orderly with you.”

Rosa did not recognize the civilian at first, but as he turned to accompany the soldier she remembered where she had seen him before.  He was the prisoner Jack had spoken with in Richmond the day the party visited the tobacco warehouse.  She hastened her step, and, as she came up with the men, she said, tremulously: