“But don’t forget that there is still a possibility of recuperation; while there’s life there’s hope.”

“True! and I will let them hope on as long as they can.”

The doctor passed on to another patient, and Harold was again left to the companionship of his own thoughts.  But not for long; they were presently broken in upon by the appearance of May with a very bright face.

“See!” she cried joyously, holding up a package; “letters from home, and Naples too.  Rose writes to mamma, and she has enclosed the letter for our benefit.”

“Then let us enjoy it together.  Sit here and read it to me; will you?  My eyes are rather weak, you know, and I see the ink is pale.”

“But mamma’s note to you?”

“Can wait its turn.  I always like to keep the best till the last.”

Harold hardly acknowledged to himself that he was very eager to hear news from Elsie; even more than to read the loving words from his mother’s pen.

“Very well, then; there seems to be no secret,” said May, glancing over the contents; and seating herself by his side she began.

After speaking of some other matters, Rose went on:  “But I have kept my greatest piece till now.  Our family is growing; we have another grandson who arrived about two weeks ago; Harold Allison Travilla by name.

“Elsie is doing finely; the sleepy little newcomer is greatly admired and loved by old and young; we make as great a to-do over him as though he were the first instead of the fourth grandchild.  My husband and I are growing quite patriarchal.

“Elsie is the loveliest and the best of mothers, perfectly devoted to her children; so patient and so tender, so loving and gentle, and yet so firm.  Mr. Travilla and she are of one mind in regard to their training, requiring as prompt and cheerful obedience as Horace always has; yet exceedingly indulgent wherever indulgence can do no harm.  One does not often see so well-trained and yet so merry and happy a family of little folks.

“Tell our Harold—­my poor dear brother—­that we hope his name-child will be an honor to him.”

“Are you not pleased?” asked May, pausing to look up at him.

“Yes,” he answered, with a quiet, rather melancholy smile; “they are very kind to remember me so.  I hope they will soon bring the little fellow to see me.  Ah, I knew Elsie would make just such a lovely mother.”

“Nothing about the time of their return,” observed May, as she finished reading; “but they will hardly linger long after the close of the war.”

May had left the room, and Harold lay languid and weak upon his cot.  A Confederate officer, occupying the next, addressed him, rousing him out of the reverie into which he had fallen.

“Excuse me, sir, but I could not help hearing some parts of the letter read aloud by the lady—­your sister, I believe——­”

“Yes.  Of course you could not help hearing, and there is no harm done,” Harold answered with a friendly tone and smile.  “So no need for apologies.”