“I know, Major; yes, I know,” answered his wife as she laid her hand on the arm of his chair.  “Mary Caroline struggled against it but it was stronger than she was.  It wasn’t the loving and marrying a man who had been on the other side—­so many girls did marry Union officers as soon as they could come back down to get them—­but the kind of enemy he was!”

“Yes,” said the major thoughtfully, “it would take a wider garment of love to cover a man with a carpetbag in his hand than a soldier in a Yankee uniform.  A conqueror who looked around as he was fighting and then came back to trade on the necessities of the conquered cuts but a sorry figure, Matilda, but a sorry figure!”

“And Mary Caroline felt it too, Major—­but she couldn’t help it,” said Mrs. Buchanan with a catch in her voice.  “The night before she ran away to marry him she spent with me, for you were away across the river, and all night we talked.  She told me—­not that she was going—­but how she cared.  She said it bitterly over and over, ’Peters Brown, the carpetbagger—­and I love him!’ I tried to comfort her as best I could but it was useless.  He was a thief to steal her—­just a child!” There was a bitterness and contempt in Mrs. Matilda’s usually tender voice.  She sat up very straight and there was a sparkle in her bright eyes.

“And the girl,” continued the major thoughtfully, “was born as her mother died.  He’d never let the mother come back and he never brought the child.  Now he’s dead.  I wonder—­I wonder.  We’ve got a claim on that girl, Matilda.  We—­”

“And, dear, that is just what I came back in such a hurry to tell you about—­I felt it so—­I haven’t been able to say it right away.  I began by talking about Mary Caroline and—­I—­I—­”

“Why, Matilda!” said the major in vague alarm at the tremble in his wife’s voice.  He laid his hand over hers on the arm of his chair with a warm clasp.

“It’s just this, Major.  You know how happy I have been, we all have been, over the wonderful statue that has been given in memory of the women of the Confederacy who stayed at home and fed the children and slaves while the men fought.  As you advised them, they have decided to put it in the park just to the left of the Temple of Arts, on the very spot where General Darrah had his last gun fired and spiked just before he fell and just as the surrender came.  It’s strange, isn’t it, that nobody knows who’s giving it?  Perhaps it was because you and David and I were talking last night about what he should say about General Darrah when he made the presentation of the sketches of the statue out at the opening of the art exhibition in the Temple of Arts to-night, that made me dream about Mary Caroline all night.  It is all so strange.”  Again Mrs. Buchanan paused with a half sob in her voice.

“Why, what is it, Matilda?” the major asked as he turned and looked at her anxiously.

“It’s a wonderful thing that has happened, Major.  Something, I don’t know what, just made me go out to the Temple this morning to see the sketches of the statue which came yesterday.  I felt I couldn’t wait until to-night to see them.  Oh, they are so lovely!  Just a tall fearless woman with a baby on her breast and a slave woman clinging to her skirts with her own child in her arms!