“Won’t you please go without me, Pa?” she asked.  “Perhaps I can be of some use.”

The Colonel cast a wondering glance at the limp uniform, and went away.  The surgeon, who knew the Carvel family, gave Virginia a look of astonishment.  It was Mrs. Brice’s searching gaze that brought the color to the girl’s, face.

“Thank you, my dear,” she said simply.

As soon as he could get his sister-in-law off to Locust Street in the carriage, Colonel Carvel came back.  For two reeking hours he stood against the newly plastered wall.  Even he was surprised at the fortitude and skill Virginia showed from the very first, when she had deftly cut away the stiffened blue cloth, and helped to take off the rough bandages.  At length the fearful operation was finished, and the weary surgeon, gathering up his box, expressed with all the energy left to him, his thanks to the two ladies.

Virginia stood up, faint and dizzy.  The work of her hands had sustained her while it lasted, but now the ordeal was come.  She went down the stairs on her father’s arm, and out into the air.  All at once she knew that Mrs. Brice was beside her, and had taken her by the hand.

“My dear?” she was saying, “God will reward you for this act.  You have taught many of us to-day a lesson we should have learned in our Bibles.”

Virginia trembled with many emotions, but she answered nothing.  The mere presence of this woman had a strange effect upon the girl,—­she was filled with a longing unutterable.  It was not because Margaret Brice was the mother of him whose life had been so strangely blended with hers —­whom she saw in her dreams.  And yet now some of Stephen’s traits seemed to come to her understanding, as by a revelation.  Virginia had labored through the heat of the day by Margaret Brice’s side doing His work, which levels all feuds and makes all women sisters.  One brief second had been needful for the spell.

The Colonel bowed with that courtesy and respect which distinguished him, and Mrs. Brice left them to go back into the room of torment, and watch by the sergeant’s pallet.  Virginia’s eyes followed her up the stairs, and then she and her father walked slowly to the carriage.  With her foot on the step Virginia paused.

“Pa,” she said, “do you think it would be possible to get them to let us take that Arkansan into our house?”

“Why, honey, I’ll ask Brinsmade if you like,” said the Colonel.  “Here he comes now, and Anne.”

It was Virginia who put the question to him.

“My dear,” replied that gentleman, patting her, “I would do anything in the world for you.  I’ll see General Fremont this very afternoon.  Virginia,” he added, soberly, “it is such acts as yours to-day that give us courage to live in these times.”

Anne kissed her friend.