It came, and left me. I had done all I had to do; all I wanted
to do; I had been able to do it all. Through the hours of the
last struggle, no hand but mine had touched him. It was borne,
as everything else had been borne, with a clear, brave
uncomplainingness; his eye was still bright and quiet when it
met mine, and the smile sweet and ready. We did not talk much;
we had done that in the days past; our thoughts were known to
each other; we were both looking now to the time of next
meeting. But his head lay on my shoulder at the very last, and
his hand was in mine. I don't think I knew when the moment
was; until somebody drew him out of my hands and placed him
back on the pillow. It was I then closed the eyes; and then I
laid my brow for a few minutes on the one that was growing
cold, for the last leave-taking. Nobody meddled with me; I saw
and heard nothing; and indeed when I stood up I was blind; I
was not faint, but I could see nothing. Some one took my hand,
I felt, and drew my arm through his and led me away. I knew,
as soon as my hand touched his arm, that it was Dr. Sandford.
I did not go back to the ward that day, and I never went back.
I charged Dr. Sandford with all my remaining care, and he
accepted the charge. No illness seized me, but my heart
failed. That was worse. Better have been sick. Bodily illness
is easier to get at.
And there was nobody to minister to mine. Dr. Sandford's
presence worried me, somehow. It ought not, but it did. Mrs.
Sandford was kind, and of course helpless to do me good. I
think the doctor saw I was not doing well, nor likely to be
better, and he brought me on to New York, to my mother.
Mamma understood nothing of what had passed, except what
Preston's letter had told her. I do not know how much, or
what, it was; and I did not care. Mamma, however, was wrought
up to a point of discomfort quite beyond the usual chronic
unrest of the year past. She exclaimed at my appearance;
complained of my change of manner; inveighed against
hospitals, lady nurses, Dr. Sandford, the war, Yankees and
Washington air; and declaimed against the religion which did
not make daughters dutiful and attentive to their mothers. It
was true, some of it; but my heart was dead, for the time, and
powerless to heed. - I heard, and did not feel. I could not
minister to my mother's happiness now, for I had no spring of
strength in my own; and ministry that was not bright and
winsome did, not content her. Such as I had I gave; I knew it
was poor, and she said so.