“Yes; and that puzzles me.  She is one of the most refined and lady-like women I ever saw.  I hear she is a refugee, but she does not look like the other refugees who have come to our camp.  Her accent is slightly Southern, but her manner is Northern.  She is self-respecting without being supercilious; quiet, without being dull.  Her voice is low and sweet, yet at times there are tones of such passionate tenderness in it that you would think some great sorrow has darkened and overshadowed her life.  Without being the least gloomy, her face at times is pervaded by an air of inexpressible sadness.  I sometimes watch her when she is not aware that I am looking at her, and it seems as if a whole volume was depicted on her countenance.  When she smiles, there is a longing in her eyes which is never satisfied.  I cannot understand how a Southern lady, whose education and manners stamp her as a woman of fine culture and good breeding, could consent to occupy the position she so faithfully holds.  It is a mystery I cannot solve.  Can you?”

“I think I can,” answered Col.  Robinson.

“Will you tell me?” queried the doctor.

“Yes, on one condition.”

“What is it?”

“Everlasting silence.”

“I promise,” said the doctor.  “The secret between us shall be as deep as the sea.”

“She has not requested secrecy, but at present, for her sake, I do not wish the secret revealed.  Miss Leroy was a slave.”

“Oh, no,” said Dr. Gresham, starting to his feet, “it can’t be so!  A woman as white as she a slave?”

“Yes, it is so,” continued the Colonel.  “In these States the child follows the condition of its mother.  This beautiful and accomplished girl was held by one of the worst Rebels in town.  Tom told me of it and I issued orders for her release.”

“Well, well!  Is that so?” said Dr. Gresham, thoughtfully stroking his beard.  “Wonders will never cease.  Why, I was just beginning to think seriously of her.”

“What’s to hinder your continuing to think?” asked Col.  Robinson.

“What you tell me changes the whole complexion of affairs,” replied the doctor.

“If that be so I am glad I told you before you got head over heels in love.”

“Yes,” said Dr. Gresham, absently.

Dr. Gresham was a member of a wealthy and aristocratic family, proud of its lineage, which it could trace through generations of good blood to its ancestral isle.  He had become deeply interested in Iola before he had heard her story, but after it had been revealed to him he tried to banish her from his mind; but his constant observation of her only increased his interest and admiration.  The deep pathos of her story, the tenderness of her ministrations, bestowed alike on black and white, and the sad loneliness of her condition, awakened within him a desire to defend and protect her all through her future life.  The fierce clashing of war had not taken all the romance