“O Jim!” she cried then, her soul in her handsome eyes.

“O Sallie!”—­and he had her fast and tight once more.

An ineffable blank, punctuated liberally with sounding exclamation points, and strongly marked periods,—­though how or why a blank should be punctuated at all, only blissful lovers could possibly define.

“Jim, dear Jim!” whispering it, and snuggling her blushing face closer to the faded blue, “can you love me after all that has happened?”

“Come now! can I love you, my beauty?  Slightly, I should think.  O, te, te, di di, idde i-dum,”—­singing Frank’s little song with his big, gay voice,—­“I’m happy as a king.”

Happy as a king, that was plain enough.  And what shall be said of her, as he sat down, and, resting the wounded leg—­stiff and sore yet,—­held Sallie on his other knee,—­then fell to admiring her while she stroked his mustache and his crisp, curling hair, looking at both and at him altogether with an expression of contented adoration in her eyes.

Frank, tired of prowling round the door, candy in hand, here thrust his head in at the window, and, unfortunately for his plans, sneezed.  “Mutual-admiration society!” he cried at that, seeing that he was detected in any case, and running away,—­his run spoiled as soon as it began.

“We are a handsome couple,” laughed Jim, holding back her face between both hands,—­“ain’t we, now?”

Yes, they were,—­no mistake about that, handsome as pictures.

And merry as birds, through all of his short stay.  They would see no danger in the future:  Jim had been scathed in time past so often, yet come out safe and sound, that they would have no fear for what was to befall him in time to come.  If they had, neither showed it to the other.  Jim thought, “Sallie would break her heart, if she knew just what is down there,—­so it would be a pity to talk about it”; and Sallie thought, “It’s right for Jim to go, and I won’t say a word to keep him back, no matter how I feel.”

The furlough was soon—­ah! how soon—­out, the days of happiness over; and Jim, holding her in a last close embrace, said his farewell:  “Come, Sallie, you’re not to cry now, and make me a coward.  It’ll only be for a little while; the Rebs can’t stand it much longer, and then—­”

“Ah, Jim! but if you should—­”

“Yes, but I sha’n’t, you see; not a bit of it; don’t you go to think it.  ‘I bear’—­what is it?  O—­’a charmed life,’ as Mr. Macbeth says, and you’ll see me back right and tight, and up to time.  One kiss more, dear.  God bless you! good by!” and he was gone.

She leaned out of the window,—­she smiled after him, kissed her hand, waved her handkerchief, so long as he could see them,—­till he had turned a corner way down the street,—­and smile, and hand, and handkerchief were lost to his sight; then flung herself on the floor, and cried as though her very heart would break.  “God send him home,—­send him safe and soon home!” she implored; entreaty made for how many loved ones, by how many aching hearts, that speedily lost the need of saying amen to any such petition,—­the prayer for the living lost in mourning for the dead.  Heaven grant that no soul that reads this ever may have the like cause to offer such prayer again!