Celia reddened to the ears, and her lips tightened, but she said nothing; and Letty went on, unconscious of the fiery emotions awaking in Celia’s breast: 

“Everybody was so cheerful and happy in the hospital—­all those poor sick soldiers,” she said, “and everybody was beginning to plan to go home, thinking the war had nearly ended.  I thought so, too, and I was so glad.  And then, somehow, people began to get uneasy; and the first stragglers appeared. . . .  Oh, it did seem incredible at first; we wouldn’t believe that the siege of Richmond had been abandoned.”

She smiled drearily.  “I’ve found out that it is very easy to believe what you want to believe in this world. . . .  Will you have some more broth, Mr. Berkley?”

Before he could answer the door opened and a red zouave came in, carrying his rifle and knapsack.

“Mother,” he said in an awed voice, “Jimmy Lent is dead!”

“What!”

He looked stupidly around the room, resting his eyes on Letty and Berkley, then dropped heavily onto a chair.

“Jim’s dead,” he repeated vacantly.  “He only arrived here yesterday—­transferred from his militia to McDunn’s battery.  And now he’s dead.  Some one had better write to Camilla.  I’m afraid to. . . .  A shell hit him last night—­oh—­he’s all torn to pieces—­and Major Lent doesn’t know it, either. . . .  Father let me come; we’re ordered across the river; good-bye, mother—­” He rose and put his arms around her.

“You’ll write to Camilla, won’t you?” he said.  “Tell her I love her.  I didn’t know it until just a few minutes ago.  But I do, mother.  I’d like to marry her.  Tell her not to cry too much.  Jimmy was playing cards, they say, and a big shell fell inside the redoubt.  Philip—­I think you knew Harry Sayre?  Transferred from the 7th to the Zouaves as lieutenant in the 5th company?”

“Yes.  Was he killed?”

“Oh, Lord, yes; everybody in the shebang except Arthur Wye was all torn to pieces.  Tommy Atherton, too; you knew him, of course—­5th Zouaves.  He happened in—­just visiting Arthur Wye.  They were all playing cards in a half finished bomb-proof. . . .  Mother, you will write to Camilla, won’t you, dear?  Good-bye—­good-bye, Phil—­and Miss Lynden!” He caught his mother in his arms for a last hug, wrenched himself free, and ran back across the hall, bayonet and canteen clanking.

“Oh, why are they sending Curt’s regiment across the river?” wailed Celia, following to the window.  “Look at them, Phil!  Can you see?  The road is full of Zouaves—­there’s a whole regiment of them in blue, too.  The batteries are all harnessed up; do you think there’s going to be another battle?  I don’t know why they want to fight any mo’!” she exclaimed in sudden wrath and anguish.  “I don’t understand why they are not willing to leave the South alone.  My husband will be killed, and my only son—­like Jimmy Lent—­if they don’t ever stop this wicked fighting——­”