She looked up quickly; a pink flush stained her neck and forehead.

“I would not use that wicked flag to protect myse’f,” she said quietly—­“nor to save this house, either, Curt.  It’s only fo’ you and Phil that I care what happens to anything now——­”

“Then go North, you bad little rebel!” whispered her husband, drawing her into his arms.  “Paige and Marye have been deserted long enough; and you’ve seen sufficient of this war—­plenty to last your lifetime——­”

“I saw Ailsa’s house burn,” she said slowly.

“Marye-mead.  When?”

“This mo’ning, Curt.  Phil thinks it was the shells from the gun-boats.  It can’t be he’ped now; it’s gone.  So is Edmund Ruffin’s.  And I wish I knew where that child, Ailsa, is.  I’m that frightened and mise’ble, Curt——­”

An orderly suddenly appeared at the door; her husband kissed her and hurried away.  The outer door swung wide, letting in a brassy clangour of bugles and a roll of drums, which softened when the door closed with a snap.

It opened again abruptly, and a thin, gray-garbed figure came in, hesitated, and Celia turned, staring through her tears: 

“Miss Lynden!” she exclaimed.  “Is Ailsa here?”

Berkley sat up and leaned forward, looking at her intently from the mass of bandages.

“Letty!” he said, “where is Mrs. Paige?”

Celia had caught the girl’s hands in hers, and was searching her thin white face with anxious eyes; and Letty shook her head and looked wonderingly at Berkley.

“Nothing has happened to her,” she said.  “A Sister of Mercy was wounded in the field hospital near Azalea, and they sent for Mrs. Paige to fill her place temporarily.  And,” looking from Celia to Berkley, “she is well and unhurt.  The fighting is farther west now.  Mrs. Paige heard yesterday that the 8th Lancers were encamped near Paigecourt and asked me to find Mr. Berkley—­and deliver a letter——­”

She smiled, drew from her satchel a letter, and, disengaging her other hand from Celia’s, went over to the bed and placed it in Berkley’s hands.

“She is quite well,” repeated Letty reassuringly; and, to Celia:  “She sends her love to you and to your husband and son, and wishes to know how they are and where their regiment is stationed.”

“You sweet little thing!” said Celia, impulsively taking her into her arms and kissing her pale face.  “My husband and my son are safe and well, thank God, and my cousin, Phil Berkley, is convalescent, and you may tell my sister-in-law that we all were worried most to death at not hearing from her.  And now I’m going to get you a cup of broth—­you poor little white-faced child!  How did you ever get here?”

“Our ambulance brought me.  We had sick men to send North.  Ailsa couldn’t leave, so she asked me to come.”

She accepted a chair near the bed.  Celia went away to prepare some breakfast with the aid of old Peter and Sadie, her maid.  And as soon as she left the room Letty sprang to her feet and went straight to Berkley.