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.