Ferry, as he passed us, called my name, and I started after him. At
Charlotte's door we heard the greeting of her black maid. The maid's
father, who of late had been nightly dressing Ferry's wound and mine,
came to us in Ferry's room; and there my Captain turned to greet me, his
face white with calamity. He took me caressingly by a button of my
jacket. "Can you have your wound washed to-night before mine?"
"Why, certainly, if it's the least--"
"Yes, thank you. And down here in this room instead of upstairs?"
"Captain Ferry! if you knew how horribly it smells, you--"
"Ah! don't I know?" he said, and as I sat naked from throat to waist
with the old negro laving the sores, Ferry scanned them narrowly. "They
are not so bad, Dick; you think a few hours in the saddle will not make
them worse?"
"Not if they're spent for you, Captain."
"Yes, for me; also for much better. We shall ride for--"
"You ride? Oh, Captain, you are in no condition--"
"Tst!" he laid a finger on my lips; "'twill not be hard; we are not
going on a scout--to jump fences." He began to make actual preparations,
and presently helped me draw my shirt into place again over the clean
bandages, while the old man went out after fresh water. "I am a hundred
times more fit to go than to stay," he suddenly resumed. "I must go. Ah,
idleness, there is nothing like idleness to drive a man mad; I must have
something to do--to-night--at once." I wish I knew how to give the words
with his quiet intensity.