“You seem wonderfully taken with this Captain Lane.”

“No,” cried the girl, with one of her irresistible laughs; “but our officer friends would have been taken with him if he had not been wounded.  I’m a genuine Southern girl, so much so that I appreciate a brave foe and true gentleman.  He protected us and our home as far as he could, and he shall have the best hospitality which this home can now afford.  Am I not right, mamma?”

“Yes, my dear, even our self-respect would not permit us to adopt any other course.”

“You will feel as I do, Roberta, after your natural grief and anger pass;” and she left the room to see that their wounded guest had as good a supper as she could produce from diminished resources.

The surgeon, whom she met in the hall, told her that his patient was feverish and a “little flighty” at times, but that he had expected this, adding:  “The comfort of his room and good food will bring him around in time.  He will owe his life chiefly to your hospitality, Miss Barkdale, for a little thing would have turned the scale against him.  Chicken broth is all that I wish him to have to-night, thanks.”

And so the process of care and nursing began.  The Union colonel had left a good supply of coffee, sugar, and coarse rations for the wounded men, and Suwanee did her best to supplement these, accomplishing even more by her kindness, cheerfulness, and winsome ways than by any other means.  She became, in many respects, a hospital nurse, and visited the wounded men, carrying delicacies to all alike.  She wrote letters for the Confederates and read the Bible to those willing to listen.  Soon all were willing, and blessed her sweet, sunny face.  The wounds of some were incurable, and, although her lovely face grew pale indeed in the presence of death, she soothed their last moments with the gentlest ministrations.  There was not a man of the survivors, Union or rebel, but would have shed his last drop of blood for her.  Roberta shared in these tasks, but it was not in her nature to be so impartial.  Even among her own people she was less popular.  Among the soldiers, on both sides, who did the actual fighting, there was not half the bitterness that existed generally among non-combatants and those Southern men who never met the enemy in fair battle; and now there was a good-natured truce between the brave Confederates and those who had perhaps wounded them, while all fought a battle with the common foe,—­death.  Therefore the haggard faces of all lighted up with unfeigned pleasure when “Missy S’wanee,” as they had learned from the negroes to call her, appeared among them.

But few slaves were left on the place, and these were old and feeble ones who had not ventured upon the unknown waters of freedom.  The old cook remained at her post, and an old man and woman divided their time between the house and the garden, Suwanee’s light feet and quick hands relieving them of the easier labors of the mansion.