Francesca had cared for this
girl, had been kind to her and helped her,--and his heart went out to
everything that reminded him of his dear, dead child. So it happened
that autumn passed, and winter, and spring,--and still they stayed. In
fact, she was domesticated in the house, and, for the first time in
years, enjoyed the delightful sense of a home. Here, then, she set up
her rest, and remained; here, when the "cruel war was over," the armies
disbanded, the last regiments discharged, and Jimmy "came marching
home," brown, handsome, and a captain, here he found her,--and from here
he married and carried her away.
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.
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