Mrs. Whately and her son went and came from their plantation and were troubled over the condition of things there.  The slaves were in a state of sullen, smouldering rebellion and several of them had disappeared.  “I fear Madison has been too arbitrary,” she admitted to her brother.

Mr. Baron shrugged his shoulders and smoked in silence.  Perhaps his preposterous niece had not been so crazy after all.

Between Maynard and Whately there were increasing evidences of trouble, which the mother of the latter did her best to avert by remonstrances and entreaty.  On one occasion Whately had said a little irritably, “I say, Dr. Ackley, what’s the use of Maynard’s hanging around here?  He is almost well enough for duty.”

“It is chiefly out of consideration for you that I am keeping him,” replied the surgeon gravely, in well-concealed mischief.  “It is clear that he has entered the lists with you for your cousin’s hand, and I could not further his suit better than by sending him away, especially if it were suspected that I did so at your instigation.  He is doing well here, good-naturedly helps me in my writing and can soon go direct to his regiment.  It seems to me that your cousin holds a pretty even balance between you, and all a man should want is a fair field.”

Whately walked frowningly away, more than ever convinced that the surgeon was too good a friend of his rival to interfere.

At the close of the fourth day after the battle there was an arrival at The Oaks that greatly interested Miss Lou—­a stately, white-haired old lady, the mother of Lieutenant Waldo.  She was very pale and it would have been hard for Surgeon Ackley to meet her agonized look, her shrinking as if from a blow, were he unable to hold out any hope.

“Mrs. Waldo,” he said gravely, “your son is living and there’s a chance of his getting well.  His cheerfulness and absolute quiet of mind may save him.  If he had fretted or desponded he would have died before this.”

“Yes,” replied his mother with a great sigh of relief, “I know.”

“Miss Baron, will you kindly prepare Waldo for his mother’s visit?  Meanwhile, I will tell her a little about his case and our management of it.  He doesn’t know that I sent for you, for I was not sure you could come.”

“Is this Miss Baron and one of my son’s nurses?”

“Yes, and doing more for him than I—­giving him all the bovine nectar and honeyed words he can take.”

“God bless you, my dear.  Please let me kiss you.”

When Miss Lou entered Waldo’s tent he whispered with a laugh, “It’s four hours since you were here.”

“No, scarcely two.”

“Well, I’m as hungry as if it were four hours.”

“That’s fine.  You’re getting right well.  Will you be very good and quiet—­not a bit excited, if I let some one else bring you your supper?”

She beamed upon him so joyously that he exclaimed aloud, with a rush of tears, “Ah! mother?”