He had no ambitious schemes or hopes for the future; he had buried the
"lost cause" as he had buried his wife, with a grief that was too deep for
tears. He had come to value life only for Ella's sake, and he tried to do
his best from a soldier-like and Christian sense of duty, until he too
could join his old comrade in arms.
Mrs. Hunter could not comprehend such a man, and he gave to her but the
casual, respectful sympathy which he thought due to a gentlewoman who had
lost much like so many other thousands in the South. After a brief call he
hobbled away on his crutches, forgetting Mrs. Hunter and, indeed, almost
everything in the deep interest excited by Mara, the daughter of his old
friend. "Would to God," he muttered, "that Sidney Wallingford could have
lived and seen that girl look at him as she looked at me to-day."
Soon after Captain Bodine's departure, Mara pleaded fatigue and retired to
her room, promising to answer her aunt's many questions on the morrow. She
was very sad and discouraged with herself, and yet she had not the
despairing sense of the utter futility of her life which had oppressed her
when she started out in the early afternoon.
She had become so absorbed and interested by the incidents and experiences
of her visit as to be almost happy. Just as she had attained a condition
of mind which had not blessed her for months, she must meet Owen Clancy.
With a sort of inward rage and wonder, she asked herself: "Why did my
heart flutter so? Why did every nerve in my body tingle? He is nothing to
me and never can be, yet, when he passed, a spirit from heaven could
hardly have moved me more.
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