She looked at him earnestly a moment, and then said:  “You make me feel as if the North and South did not understand each other.”  Then she added, sadly:  “The war is not over.  Alas! how much may happen before it is.  My gray-haired father and gallant brothers are marching with Lee, and while I pray for them night and morning, and often through the day, I fear—­I fear inexpressibly,—­all the more, now that I have seen Northern soldiers fight.  God only knows what is in store for us all.  Do not think that because I seem light-hearted I am not conscious of living on the eve of a tragedy all the time.  Tears and laughter are near together in my nature.  I can’t help it; I was so made.”

“Heaven keep you and yours in safety,” said Lane, earnestly; and she saw that his eyes were moist with feeling.

“This won’t answer,” she again declared, hastily.  “We must have no more such exciting talks.  Shall I read to you a little while, or go at once?”

“Read to me, by all means, if I am not selfishly keeping you too long.  Your talk has done me good rather than harm, for you are so vital yourself that you seem to give me a part of your life and strength.  I believe I should have died under the old dull monotony.”

“I usually read the Bible to your men,” she said, half humorously, half questioningly.

“Read it to me.  I like to think we have the same faith.  That book is the pledge that all differences will pass away from the sincere.”

He looked at her wonderingly as she read, in her sweet, girlish voice, the sacred words familiar since his childhood; and when she rose and said, “This must do for to-day,” his face was eloquent with his gratitude.  He again reached out his hand, and said, gently, “Miss Suwanee, Heaven keep you and yours from all harm.”

“Don’t talk to me that way,” she said, brusquely.  “After all, we are enemies, you know.”

“If you can so bless your enemies, what must be the experience of your friends, one of whom I intend to be?”

“Roberta must read to you, in order to teach you that the South cannot be taken by storm.”

“I should welcome Miss Roberta cordially.  We also shall be good friends some day.”

“We must get you well and pack you off North, or there’s no telling what may happen,” she said, with a little tragic gesture.  “Good-by.”

This was the beginning of many talks, though no other was of so personal a nature.  They felt that they understood each other, that there was no concealment to create distrust.  She artlessly and unconsciously revealed to him her life and its inspirations, and soon proved that her mind was as active as her hands.  She discovered that Lane had mines of information at command, and she plied him with questions about the North, Europe, and such parts of the East as he had visited.  Her father’s library was well stored with standard works, and she made him describe the scenes suggested by her favorite poets.  Life was acquiring for her a zest which it had never possessed before, and one day she said to him, abruptly, “How you have broadened my horizon!”