rank between the girl he would injure and himself.  The courtesy promptly shown to her by Maynard and especially by the surgeon-in-chief taught him that one whom he had scarcely noticed as she grew up a repressed, brooding child and girl, possessed by birth the consideration ever shown to a Southern lady.  He knew what that meant, even if he could not appreciate her conduct.  Maynard had scowled upon him; Mrs. Whately bestowed merely a glance of cold contempt, while her son had failed him utterly as an ally.  He therefore sullenly drove his malice back into his heart with the feeling that he must now bide his time.

Even Mr. Baron was curt and said briefly before he left the ground, “Be sure you’re right before you go ahead.  Hereafter give your orders quietly and let me know who disobeys.”

The old planter was at his wit’s end about his niece, but even he was compelled to see that his former methods with her would not answer.  New ideas were being forced upon him as if by surgical operations.  Chief among them was the truth that she could no longer be managed or restrained by fear or mere authority on the part of any one.  He would look at her in a sort of speechless wonder and ask himself if she were the child to whom he had supposed himself infallible so many years.  His wife kept on the even tenor of her way more unswervingly than any one on the place.  She was as incapable of Dr. Ackley’s fine sentiment as she was of her nephew’s ungovernable passion.  She neither hoped nor tried to comprehend the “perversity” of her niece, yet, in the perplexed conditions of the time, she filled a most important and useful niche.  Since the wounded men were to be fed, she became an admirable commissary general, preventing waste and exacting good wholesome cookery on the part of Aun’ Suke and her assistants.

Poor Yarry was buried quietly at last, Miss Lou, with Dr. Borden, Captain Hanfield and two or three of his comrades standing reverently by the grave while Uncle Lusthah offered his simple prayer.  Then the girl threw upon the mound some flowers she had gathered and returned to her duties as nurse.  The remains of the old Confederate colonel were sent to his family, with the letter which Miss Lou had written for him.  Every day the numbers in the hospital diminished, either by death or by removal of the stronger patients to the distant railroad town.  Those sent away in ambulances and other vehicles impressed into the service were looked after by Surgeon Ackley with official thoroughness and phlegm; in much the same spirit and manner Dr. Williams presided over the departure of others to the bourne from which none return, then buried them with all proper observance.  Uncle Lusthah carried around by a sort of stealth his pearl of simple, vital, hope-inspiring faith, and he found more than one ready to give their all for it.  The old man pointed directly to Him who “taketh away the sin of the world,” then stood aside that dying eyes might look.  With the best intentions Dr. Williams, with his religious formulas, got directly in the way, bewildering weak minds with a creed.