Celia sighed, waited for him to speak, sighed again, and picked up
the Baltimore newspaper to resume her reading if he desired.
Searching the columns listlessly, she scanned the headings, glanced
over the letter press in silence, then turned the crumpled page.
Presently she frowned.
"Listen to this, Philip; they say that there is yellow fever among
the Yankee troops in Louisiana. It would be like them to bring
that horror into the Ca'linas and Virginia----"
He turned his head suddenly, partly rose from where he lay; and she
caught her breath and bent swiftly over him, placing one hand on
his arm and gently forcing him down upon the-pillow again.
"Fo'give me, dear," she faltered. "I forgot what I was reading----"
He said, thoughtfully: "Did you ever hear exactly how my mother
died, Celia? . . . But I know you never did. . . . And I think I
had better tell you."
"She died in the fever camp at Silver Bayou, when you were a little
lad," whispered Celia.
"No."
"Philip! What are you saying?"
"You don't know how my mother died," he said quietly.
"Phil, we had the papers--and the Governor of Louisiana wrote us
himse'f----"
"I know what he wrote and what the papers published was not true.
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