I could have sat down on the spot and cried heartily, if I had not learned the wisdom of bottling up one’s tears for leisure moments.  Such an end seemed very hard for such a man, when half a dozen worn-out, worthless bodies round him were gathering up the remnants of wasted lives, to linger on for years perhaps, burdens to others, daily reproaches to themselves.  The army needed men like John,—­earnest, brave, and faithful; fighting for liberty and justice with both heart and hand, true soldiers of the Lord.  I could not give him up so soon, or think with any patience of so excellent a nature robbed of its fulfilment, and blundered into eternity by the rashness or stupidity of those at whose hands so many lives may be required.  It was an easy thing for Dr. P. to say, “Tell him he must die,” but a cruelly hard thing to do, and by no means as “comfortable” as he politely suggested.  I had not the heart to do it then, and privately indulged the hope that some change for the better might take place, in spite of gloomy prophecies, so, rendering my task unnecessary.  A few minutes later, as I came in again with fresh rollers, I saw John sitting erect, with no one to support him, while the surgeon dressed his back.  I had never hitherto seen it done; for, having simpler wounds to attend to, and knowing the fidelity of the attendant, I had left John to him, thinking it might be more agreeable and safe; for both strength and experience were needed in his case.  I had forgotten that the strong man might long for the gentler tendance of a woman’s hands, the sympathetic magnetism of a woman’s presence, as well as the feebler souls about him.  The Doctor’s words caused me to reproach myself with neglect, not of any real duty perhaps, but of those little cares and kindnesses that solace homesick spirits, and make the heavy hours pass easier.  John looked lonely and forsaken just then, as he sat with bent head, hands folded on his knee, and no outward sign of suffering, till, looking nearer, I saw great tears roll down and drop upon the floor.  It was a new sight there; for though I had seen many suffer, some swore, some groaned, most endured silently, but none wept.  Yet it did not seem weak, only very touching, and straightway my fear vanished, my heart opened wide and took him in, as, gathering the bent head in my arms, as freely as if he had been a little child, I said,—­“Let me help you bear it, John.”

Never, on any human countenance, have I seen so swift and beautiful a look of gratitude, surprise, and comfort, as that which answered me more eloquently than the whispered,—­

“Thank you ma’am; this is right good! this is what I wanted!”

“Then why not ask for it before?”

“I didn’t like to be a trouble; you seemed so busy, and I could manage to get on alone.”

“You shall not want it any more, John.”