The sick continued to drift North; new regiments continued to arrive; the steady, tireless welding of the army was going on all around her, night and day; and the clamour of it filled the sky.

Celia Craig wrote her and sent her boxes for herself; but the contents of the parcels went to her sick men.  Camilla wrote her and requested information concerning Stephen, who was, it appeared, very lax in correspondence; but Ailsa had not heard from Colonel Craig since the 3rd Zouaves left Fortress Monroe, and she had no information for either Celia or Camilla.

Christmas boxes for the hospital began to arrive early; presents came to Ailsa from Colonel Arran, from Hallam, from Celia and Camilla,

Letty had only one gift, a beautiful watch and chain from Dr. Benton; and Ailsa, going up to undress for a short sleep before supper, found the girl sitting with the little timepiece in her hand, crying silently all to herself.

“Why, dear!” she exclaimed, “what in the world is the trouble?” and put both arms around her.  But Letty only laid her head against Ailsa’s breast, and sobbed anew, uncomforted.

“Won’t you tell me what is wrong?” urged Ailsa, mystified.

“Yes . . . I am . . .  Don’t pay attention to what I say, Mrs. Paige.  You—­you like me, don’t you?”

“I love you, dear,”

“Please—­do.  I am—­very unhappy.”

“You are only tired out.  Listen; don’t the wards look pretty with all the laurel and evergreens and ribbons!  Our poor boys will have something to remind them of Christmas. . . .  I—­do you know that young Langley is dead?”

“Yes—­I helped him—­die.  Yesterday Dr. West seemed to think he would get well.  But Hammond couldn’t stop the gangrene, and he cut him almost to pieces.  Oh—­I’m very, very miserable—­my boys die so fast—­so fast——­”

“You mustn’t be miserable on Christmas Eve!  I won’t let you be silly!”

“I’m gay enough in the wards,” said Letty listlessly; “I’ve got to be.  Can’t I cry a little in my own room?”

“No, we haven’t time to cry,” said Ailsa decisively.  “Lie down beside me and go to sleep.  Flannery has promised to wake us in time for supper.”

“I can’t get Langley’s terrible face out of my mind,” whimpered Letty, cuddling close to Ailsa, as they lay in bed in the wintry darkness.  “It was all drawn up on one side.”

“But coma had set in,” said Ailsa gently.  “You know, he wasn’t suffering when he died. . . .  You’ll write to his mother, won’t you, dear?  Or shall I?”

“I will. . . .  She wanted to come, you remember, but she’s bedridden. . . .  Her only son. . . .  Yes, I’ll write . . .  I think Peterson is going to die, next——­”

“But Levy is getting well,” interrupted Ailsa.

“Stop it, Letty dear!  I won’t let you become morbid.  Think of your beautiful watch!  Think of dear Dr. Benton.”  “I—­I am,” gasped Letty, and fell to crying again until she sobbed herself to sleep in Ailsa’s tired arms.