days, where the sun poured down its burning heat and the night brought little rest.  No wonder, then, that the three faces at the farmhouse grew white with anxiety, or that three pairs of eyes grew dim with watching the daily papers.  But the names of neither Wilford, Mark, nor Bob were ever found among the wounded, dead, or missing, and with the fall of the first autumn leaf Bell returned to the city, more puzzled, more perplexed than ever with regard to Helen Lennox’s real feelings toward Captain Ray.

Rapidly autumn went by, bringing at last the week before Christmas, when Mark came home for a few days, looking ruddy and bronzed from exposure and hardship, but wearing the disappointed, listless look which Bell was quick to detect, connecting it in some way with Helen Lennox.  Only once did he call at Mr. Cameron’s, and then as Juno was not present Bell had him all to herself, talking a great deal of Silverton, of Helen and Katy, in the latter of whom he seemed far more interested than in her sister.  Many questions he asked concerning Katy, expressing his regret that Wilford had ever left her, and saying he believed Wilford was sorry, too.  He was in the hospital now, with a severe cold and a touch of the rheumatism, he said; but as Bell knew this already she did not dwell long upon that subject, choosing rather to talk of Helen—­“as much interested in the soldiers,” she said, “as if she had a brother or a lover in the army,” and her bright eyes glanced meaningly at Mark, who answered carelessly: 

“Dr. Grant is there, you know, and that may account for her interest.”

Mark knew he must say something to ward off Bell’s attacks, and so he continued talking of Dr. Grant and how much he was liked by the poor wretches who needed some one as kind and gentle as he to keep them from dying of homesickness if nothing else.  Once, too, he spoke of a nurse, a second Nightingale, whose shadow on the wall the soldiers had not kissed perhaps, but who was worshiped by the pale, sick men to whom she ministered so tenderly.

“She is very beautiful,” he added, “and every man of us would willingly try a hospital cot for the sake of being nursed by her.”

Bell thought at once of Marian, but as Mark knew nothing of their private affairs she would not question him, and after a few bantering words concerning Lieutenant Bob and the picture he carried into every battle, buttoned closely over his heart.  Mark Ray took his leave, while Bell, softened by thoughts of Cob, ran upstairs to cry, going to her mother’s room, as a seamstress was occupying her own.  Mrs. Cameron was out that afternoon, and that she had dressed in a hurry was indicated by the unusual confusion of her room.  Drawers were left open and various articles scattered about, while on the floor just as it had fallen from a glove box lay a letter which Bell picked up, intending to replace it.