"
"Your father, then, is dead?"
"He yielded his life the first year of the war; and our plantation near
Charlottesville has been constantly in the track of the armies. One
rather important battle, indeed, was fought upon it, so you may realize
that it is now desolate, and utterly unfit for habitation."
"The house yet stands?"
"The chimney and one wall alone remained when I was last there," I
replied, glad of the interest she exhibited. "Fortunately two of the
negro cabins were yet standing. Doubtless these will form the nucleus
of our home when the war ceases; they will prove a trifle better than
the mere sky."
"The South is certainly paying a terrible price for rebellion," she
said soberly, her fine eyes filled with tears. "Only those of us who
have beheld some portion of the sacrifice can ever realize how complete
it is."
"The uselessness of it is what makes it seem now so unutterably sad."
"Yes," she assented, "and this the South is beginning to understand.
But I cannot help thinking of the joy awaiting your mother when she
learns that you are well, after she has mourned you as dead. It will
almost repay her for all the rest. How I should love to be the bearer
of such news."
As she spoke she quietly rose to her feet and smiled pleasantly as I
took advantage of the opportunity to sit up.
"I thought you must be tired, lying in that position so long; besides,
I am sure I have tarried here quite as long as I should, now that I can
be of no further service.
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