It was a happy little wedding, though nobody was there beside the essentials, save the family and a dear friend of Robert’s, who was with him at the time, as he had been before and would be often again,—­none other than William Surrey’s favorite cousin and friend, Tom Russell.

The letter which Surrey had written never reached his hand till he lay almost dying from the effects of wounds and exposure, after he had been brought in safety to our lines by his faithful black friends, at Morris Island.  Surrey had not mistaken his temper; gay, reckless fellow, as he was, he was a thorough gentleman, in whom could harbor no small spite, nor petty prejudice,—­and without a mean fibre in his being.  At a glance he took in the whole situation, and insisting upon being propped up in bed, with his own hand—­though slowly, and as a work of magnitude—­succeeded in writing a cordial letter of congratulation and affection, that would have been to Surrey like the grasp of a brother’s hand in a strange and foreign country, had it ever reached his touch and eyes.

But even while Tom lay writing his letter, occasionally muttering, “They’ll have a devilish hard time of it!” or “Poor young un!” or “She’s one in a million!” or some such sentence which marked his feeling and care,—­these two of whom he thought, to whose future he looked with such loving anxiety, were beyond the reach of human help or hindrance,—­done alike with the sorrows and joys of time.

From a distance, with the help of a glass, and absorbing interest, he had followed the movements of the flag and its bearer, and had cheered, till he fainted from weakness and exhaustion, as he saw them safe at last.  It was with delight that he found himself on the same transport with Ercildoune, and discovered in him the brother of the young girl for whom, in the past, he had had so pleasing and deep a regard, and whose present and future were so full of interest for him, in their new and nearer relations.

These two young men, unlike as they were in most particulars, were drawn together by an irresistible attraction.  They had that common bond, always felt and recognized by those who possess it, of the gentle blood,—­tastes and instincts in common, and a fine, chivalrous sentiment which each felt and thoroughly appreciated in the other.  The friendship thus begun grew with the passing years, and was intensified a hundred fold by a portion of the past to which they rarely referred, but which lay always at the bottom of their hearts.  They had each for those two who had lain dead together in the streets of New York the strongest and tenderest love,—­and though it was not a tie about which they could talk, it bound them together as with chains of steel.

Russell was with Ercildoune at the time of the wedding, and entered into it heartily, as they all did.  The result was, as has been written, the gayest and merriest of times.  Sallies dress, which Robert had given her, was a sight to behold; and the pretty jewels, which were a part of his gift, and the long veil, made her look, as Jim declared, “so handsome he didn’t know her,”—­though that must have been one of Jim’s stories, or else he was in the habit of making love to strange ladies with extraordinary ease and effrontery.