“Oh, I was convinced of that before you put your sabre in its scabbard on the evening of your most unwelcome arrival, when you spoiled our supper-party.  You have since been confirming first impressions.  I must admit, however, that I scarcely ‘reverence’ you yet, nor have I detected anything specially ‘angelic.’”

“Your failure in these respects will be the least of my troubles.  I do not take back what I have said, however.”

“Wait; perhaps you will.  You are very slightly acquainted with me, sir.”

“You are much less so with me, and can’t imagine what an obstinate fellow I am.”

“Oh, if I have to contend with obstinacy rather than judgment—­”

“Please let us have no contentions whatever.  I have often found that your Southern men out-matched me, and not for the world would I have a dispute with a woman of your mettle.  I give you my parole to do all that you wish, as far as it is within my power, while I am helpless on your hands.”

“And when I have helped to make you well you will go and fight against the South again?”

“Yes, Miss Barkdale,” gravely, “and so would your officers against the North.”

“Oh, I know it.  I sha’n’t put any poison in your coffee.”

“Nor will you ever put poison in any man’s life.  The most delightful thing about you, Miss Barkdale,” he continued, laughing, “is that you are so genuinely good and don’t know it.”

“Whatever happens,” she said, almost irritably, “you must be cured of that impression.  I won’t be considered ‘good’ when I’m not.  Little you know about me, indeed!  Good heavens, Captain Lane! what kind of women have you been accustomed to meet in the North?  Would they put strychnine in a wounded Southerner’s food, and give him heavy bread, more fatal than bullets, and read novels while dying men were at their very doors?”

“Heaven help them!  I fear there are many women the world over who virtually do just those things.”

“They are not in the South,” she replied, hotly.

“They are evidently not in this house,” he replied, smiling.  “You ask what kind of women I am accustomed to meet.  I will show you the shadow of one of my friends;” and he took from under his pillow a photograph of Marian.

“Oh, isn’t she lovely!” exclaimed the girl.

“Yes, she is as beautiful as you are; she is as brave as you are, and I’ve seen you cheering on your friends when even in the excitement of the fight my heart was filled with dread lest you or your mother or sister might be shot.  She is just as ardent for the North as you are for the South, and her influence has had much place in the motives of many who are now in the Union army.  If wounded Confederates were about her door you could only equal—­you could not surpass—­her in womanly kindness and sympathy.  The same would be true of my mother and sisters, and millions of others.  I know what you think of us at the North, but you will have to revise your opinions some day.”