"You are right, sir!" said Mr. Travilla; "one who could take advantage of the necessities of his own country, to enrich himself by robbing her, is not worthy to be called a man."
"And I esteem an officer who could rob the soldiers very little better," said Daisy. "Again and again canned fruits and other niceties, sent by ladies for the comfort of the sick and wounded men, were appropriated by officers who did not need them, and knew they were not given to them."
"And the conclusion of the whole matter," said Harold, with his placid, patient smile, "is that there were on both sides men who, loving and seeking their own interest above country, personal honor, or anything else, would bring disgrace upon any cause. No, Mrs. Carrington, I have no bitter feeling towards the South. My heart aches for her people in their bereavements, their losses, and all the difficulties of reconstruction and adapting themselves to the new order of things which is the result of the war."
Elsie had several times expressed to her husband and father a deep anxiety to hear from Viamede, and had written to both Mr. Mason and Spriggs, inquiring about the people and the condition of the estate, yet with but slight hope of reply, as all communication with the place had been cut off for years, and it was more than likely that one or both had been driven, or drifted away from his post during the progress of the war.
She was therefore greatly pleased when, on entering the parlor one morning on her return from a drive, she found Mr. Mason there waiting for an interview.
"You are not direct from Viamede!" she asked, when they had exchanged a cordial greeting.
"No, Mrs. Travilla," he answered; "I stayed as long as I could, but not being willing to go into the army, was finally compelled to leave. That was more than two years ago. But I received a letter from Spriggs only yesterday, written from the estate. He was in the Confederate service; and when the struggle was over, went back to Viamede.
"He says it was not visited by either army, and has suffered only from neglect. The old house-servants are still there—Aunt Phillis, Aunt Sally, and the rest; many of the field hands, too, occupying their old quarters, but looking ragged and forlorn enough.
"They are willing to work for wages, and Spriggs begs of me to find out where you are, and tell you that, if you wish it and will furnish the means, he will hire them, and do the best he can to restore the place and make it profitable to you.
"I saw your name in the list of arrivals by a late steamer, and with some little painstaking, at length learned where you were."
"I am very glad you have come, Mr. Mason; and I am inclined to think well of Mr. Spriggs' proposition," Elsie answered; "but I must consult my—Ah, here they are!" as the husband and father entered the room together.
The matter was under discussion for the next half-hour, when it was decided to accept Mr. Spriggs' proposal, for the present at least.
Elsie then said to Mr. Mason that she hoped he was not engaged, as she would be glad to have him return to Viamede and resume his former duties there.
He colored and laughed, as he answered, "I am engaged, Mrs. Travilla, though not in the sense you mean, and shall be glad to comply with your wish, if you do not object to my taking a wife with me."
"Not at all," she answered, smiling; "the Bible says, 'it is not good for man to be alone,' and I hope you will be all the happier and more useful in the Master's service for having a better-half with you. A suite of rooms shall be placed at your service and your wants attended to as formerly."
Mr. Mason returned warm thanks for her kindness, and took his departure, evidently well-pleased with the result of his call.
Chapter Thirtieth
"War, war, war!
Misery, murder, and crime;
Crime, murder, and woe."
The Travillas accompanied Miss Stanhope on her return to Lansdale, and were there to assist at the reception of Harry and his bride. After that, a few weeks were spent by them with Mr. and Mrs. Ross.
They then returned to Elmgrove, where, detained, partly by business matters, partly by Harold's condition and his earnest wish to have them all near him to the last, they lingered until September.
Harold "went home," early in that month, dying as calmly and quietly as "fades a summer cloud away," or "sinks the gale when storms are o'er."
He was buried with military honors, and the friends returned to the house, sorely to miss, indeed, the wasted form, and wan, yet patient, cheerful face, and the loved voice, ever ready with words of consolation and hope; but while weeping over their own present bereavement, rejoicing in his joy and the assurance of a blessed reunion in a better land, when they, too, should be able to say, "I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course: I have kept the faith."
It was a melancholy satisfaction to Rose that she had been with him almost constantly during the last three months of his life; her husband had not hurried her; but now both they, and Mr. Travilla and Elsie, felt that the time had come when they should hasten their return to their own homes.
They set out the next week; not a gay party, but filled with a subdued, quiet cheerfulness. Some of their dear ones, but lately journeying with them towards the Celestial City, had reached the gates and entered in; but they were following after, and would overtake them at length; and, though the way might be at times rough and stony to their weary feet, the path compassed by foes both wily and strong, yet there was with them One mightier than all the hosts of hell, and who had promised never to leave nor forsake. "In all these things they should be more than conquerors, through Him that loved them."
After entering Virginia, they saw all along the route the sad ravages of the war, and their hearts sent up earnest petitions that those waste places might speedily be restored, and their dear native land never again be visited with that fearful scourge.
The scenes grew more saddening as they neared their journey's end, and could recognize, in the ruined houses and plantations, the wrecks of the former happy homes of friends and neighbors.
They all went directly to the Oaks, where the Travillas were to find a home until Ion could be made again comfortably habitable. It was late in the afternoon of a cloudy, showery day that they found themselves actually rolling quietly along the broad winding drive that led through the grounds to the noble mansion they had left more than five years before.
Even here there were sad signs of neglect: the grounds had forgotten their former neat and trim appearance, and the house needed paint and some slight repairs. But this was all; and they felt it a cause for thankfulness that things were no worse.
A group of relatives and retainers were gathered in the veranda to greet them; an aged, white-haired man the central figure, around him three ladies in deep mourning, a one-armed gentleman, and a crowd of children of both sexes and all ages, from the babe in arms to the youth of sixteen; while in the rear could be seen Mrs. Murray's portly figure, and strong, sensible Scotch face, beaming with pleasure, relieved by a background of dusky faces, lighted up with joy and expectation.
Mr. Dinsmore alighted first, gave his hand to his wife, and leaving young Horace to attend to Rosebud, hastened to meet his father.
The old man tottered forward and fell upon his neck, weeping bitterly. "My son, my boa, my only one now; I have lost all—everything—wife, sons, home; all swept away, nothing left to my old age but you."
"Yes, that's it always," sneered a sharp voice near at hand; "daughters count for nothing; grandchildren are equally valuable. Sons, houses, and lands are the only possessions worth having."
"Enna, how can you!" exclaimed Mrs. Howard.
But