“I think it would comfort you if I washed your face:  can you bear to have it done?” she asked.

“If you can bear to do it,” he answered, with an apologetic look, evidently troubled at receiving such services from her.

Yet as her hands moved gently about his face, he shut his eyes, and there was a little quiver of the lips now and then, as if he was remembering a time when he had hoped to have her near him in a tenderer capacity than that of nurse.  She guessed the thought, and tried to banish it by saying cheerfully as she finished: 

“There, you look more like yourself after that.  Now the hands.”

“Fortunately for you, there is but one,” and he rather reluctantly surrendered a very dirty member.

“Forgive me, I forgot.  It is a brave hand, and I am proud to wash it!”

“How do you know that?” he asked, surprised at her little burst of enthusiasm, for as she spoke she pressed the grimy hand in both her own.

“While I was recovering you from your faint, that man over there informed me that you were his Colonel; that you ‘fit like a tiger,’ and when your right arm was disabled, you took your sword in the left and cheered them on as if you ’were bound to beat the whole rebel army.’”

“That’s Drake’s story,” and Mr. Fletcher tried to give the old shrug, but gave an irrepressible groan instead, then endeavored to cover it, by saying in a careless tone, “I thought I might get a little excitement out of it, so I went soldiering like all the rest of you.  I’m not good for much, but I can lead the way for the brave fellows who do the work.  Officers make good targets, and a rebel bullet would cause no sorrow in taking me out of the world.”

“Don’t say that!  I should grieve sincerely; and yet I’m very glad you came, for it will always be a satisfaction to you in spite of your great loss.”

“There are greater losses than right arms,” muttered Mr. Fletcher gloomily, then checked himself, and added with a pleasant change in voice and face, as he glanced at the wedding-ring she wore: 

“This is not exactly the place for congratulations, but I can’t help offering mine; for if I’m not mistaken your left hand also has grown doubly precious since we met?”

Christie had been wondering if he knew, and was much relieved to find he took it so well.  Her face said more than her words, as she answered briefly: 

“Thank you.  Yes, we were married the day David left, and have both been in the ranks ever since.”

“Not wounded yet? your husband, I mean,” he said, getting over the hard words bravely.

“Three times, but not badly.  I think a special angel stands before him with a shield;” and Christie smiled as she spoke.

“I think a special angel stands behind him with prayers that avail much,” added Mr. Fletcher, looking up at her with an expression of reverence that touched her heart.

“Now I must go to my work, and you to sleep:  you need all the rest you can get before you have to knock about in the ambulances again,” she said, marking the feverish color in his face, and knowing well that excitement was his only strength.