“Aunt Polly!” he said abruptly, “I want your permission to marry Dorothy.”
“Why of course, Arthur,” she replied. “That is what I have intended all the time.”
* * * * * * * *
It was four years later, in June, 1865. Arthur and Dorothy – with an abiding consciousness of duty faithfully done – stood together in the porch at Wyanoke. The war was over. Virginia was ruined beyond recovery. All of evil that Arthur had foreseen, had been accomplished. “But the good has also come,” said Dorothy as they talked. “Slavery is at an end. You, Arthur, are free. You may again address yourself to your work in the world without the embarrassment of other duty. Shall we go back to New York?”
“No, Dorothy. My work in life lies in the cradle in the chamber there, where our two children sleep.”
“Thank you!” said Dorothy, and silence fell for a time.
Presently Dorothy added:
“And my mother’s work is done. It consoles me for all, when I remember that she lies where she fell, a martyr. The stone under which she sleeps is a rude one, but soldier hands have lovingly carved upon it the words:
‘MADAME LE SUD
The Angel of the Battlefield.’ ”
Then Dorothy whistled, and Dick came in response.
“Bring the horses at six o’clock tomorrow, Dick, your master and I are going to ride soon in the morning.”