“You little know me if you think I’m weighing words at this time,” she replied.  “Come, let us forget the past, shake hands and remember that we are simply cousins.”

He took her hand instantly, but said, “You ask what is impossible.  Suppose you had said, ’Just remember your arm is well from this moment,’ would it be well?  I cannot help my feelings toward you and don’t wish to.”

“Very well, then,” she sighed, “I cannot help mine either.  I don’t wish to talk on that subject any more.”

“Then I must plead by actions.  Well, I must go now.”

Mrs. Whately was much pleased, for her son was adopting just the course she desired.  She added nothing and accompanied Louise downstairs.

The amputating table had been removed and the halls cleansed, but the unmistakable odor of the hospital pervaded the house.  Every apartment on the first floor except the dining-room was filled with the wounded.  Some were flushed and feverish by reason of their injuries, others, pallid from loss of blood and ebbing vital forces.

The Confederate general, with his staff, had already made a hasty breakfast and departed; through the open door came the mellow sound of bugles and the songs of birds, but within were irrepressible sighs and groans.  Mrs. Whately entered the spacious parlor on the floor of which Confederate officers lay as close as space for attendance upon them permitted.  The young girl paused on the threshold and looked around with a pitying, tearful face.  A white-haired colonel was almost at her feet.  As he looked up and recognized her expression, a pleased smile illumined his wan, drawn face.  “Don’t be frightened, my child,” he said gently.

The swift glance of her secured attention took in his condition.  His right arm was gone and he appeared ghastly from loss of blood.  In her deep emotion she dropped on her knees beside him, took his cold hand and kissed it as she said, “Please let me help you and others get well.”

The old man was strongly touched by her unexpected action, and he faltered, “Well, my child, you make us all feel that our Southern girls are worth fighting for and, if need be, dying for.  Yes, you can help us, some of us, in our dying perhaps, as well as in our mending.  My battles are over.  You can help best by caring for younger, stronger men.”

“Such men will not begrudge you anything, sir.”

“Bravo!” cried half a dozen voices, and an officer near added, “Miss Baron speaks as well and true as you fought, Colonel.”

She looked hastily around.  Seeing many friendly smiles and looks of honest goodwill and admiration she rose confusedly, saying, “I must go to work at once.”