An Echo of Antietam | Page 2

the hostess of this occasion.
The fourth member of the party was a girl of nineteen or twenty. She
was a very pretty girl, and although to-day her pallid cheeks and red
and swollen eyelids would to other eyes have detracted somewhat from
her charms, it was certain that they did not make her seem less adorable
to the young officer, for he was her lover, and was to march with the
regiment in the morning.

Lieutenant Philip King was a lawyer, and by perseverance and native
ability had worked up a fair practice for so young a man in and around
Upton. When he volunteered, he had to make up his mind to leave this
carefully gathered clientage to scatter, or to be filched from him by less
patriotic rivals; but it may be well believed that this seemed to him a
little thing compared with leaving Grace Roberts, with the chance of
never returning to make her his wife. If, indeed, it had been for him to
say, he would have placed his happiness beyond hazard by marrying
her before the regiment marched; nor would she have been averse, but
her mother, an invalid widow, took a sensible rather than a sentimental
view of the case. If he were killed, she said, a wife would do him no
good; and if he came home again, Grace would be waiting for him, and
that ought to satisfy a reasonable man. It had to satisfy an unreasonable
one. The Robertses had always lived just beyond the garden from the
parsonage, and Grace, who from a little girl had been a great pet of the
childless minister and his sister, was almost as much at home there as
in her mother's house. When Philip fell in love with her, the Mortons
were delighted. They could have wished nothing better for either. From
the first Miss Morton had done all she could to make matters smooth
for the lovers, and the present little farewell banquet was but the last of
many meetings she had prepared for them at the parsonage.
Philip had come out from camp on a three-hours' leave that afternoon,
and would have to report again at half-past seven. It was nearly that
hour now, though still light, the season being midsummer. There had
been an effort on the part of all to keep up a cheerful tone; but as the
time of the inevitable separation drew near, the conversation had been
more and more left to the minister and his sister, who, with
observations sometimes a little forced, continued to fend off silence
and the demoralization it would be likely to bring to their young friends.
Grace had been the first to drop out of the talking, and Philip's answers,
when he was addressed, grew more and more at random, as the
meetings of his eyes with his sweetheart's became more frequent and
lasted longer.
"He will be the handsomest officer in the regiment, that's one comfort.
Won't he, Grace?" said Miss Morton cheerily.

The girl nodded and smiled faintly. Her eyes were brimming, and the
twitching of her lips from time to time betrayed how great was the
effort with which she kept her self-command.
"Yes," said Mr. Morton; "but though he looks very well now, it is
nothing to the imposing appearance he will present when he comes
back with a colonel's shoulder-straps. You should be thinking of that,
Grace."
"I expect we shall hear from him every day," said Miss Morton. "He
will have no excuse for not writing with all those envelopes stamped
and addressed, with blank paper in them, which Grace has given him.
You should always have three or four in your coat pocket, Phil."
The young man nodded.
"I suppose for the most part we shall learn of you through Grace; but
you mustn't forget us entirely, my boy," said Mr. Morton. "We shall
want to hear from you directly now and then."
"Yes; I 'll be sure to write," Philip replied.
"I suppose it will be time enough to see the regiment pass if we are in
our places by nine o'clock," suggested Miss Morton, after a silence.
"I think so," said her brother. "It is a great affair to break camp, and I
don't believe the march will begin till after that time."
"James has got us one of the windows of Ray & Seymour's offices, you
know, Philip," resumed Miss Morton; "which one did you say, James?"
"The north one."
"Yes, the north one," she resumed. "They say every window on Main
Street along the route of the regiment is rented. Grace will be with us,
you know. You must n't forget to look up at us as you go by--as if the
young man were likely to!"
He was evidently