moved into another house; and when the general returned with the sad
intelligence, he did not know of the fact, but went to the old house,
which was now occupied by Mrs. Wood. He told the servant-girl to tell
her mistress to come into the parlor, and then he took a seat on the
sofa and thought how he could break the news of the major's death to
her so as not to give her too violent a shock. When Mrs. Wood entered,
the general greeted her mournfully; and when they had taken seats, the
following conversation ensued:

"Madam, I have been the major's friend ever since our childhood. I
played with him when we were boys together. I grew up to manhood with
him; I watched with pride his noble and successful career; I rejoiced
when he married the lovely woman before me; and I went to the West
with him. Need I tell you that I loved him? I loved him only less than
you did."

"I don't understand you, sir," said Mrs. Wood. "Whom are you referring
to?"

"Why, to the major. I say that your love for him alone was greater
than mine; and I am--"

"Your remarks are a mystery to me. I have no attachment of that kind."

"Call it what you will, madam. I know how strong the tie was between
you--how deep the devotion which kept two loving souls in perfect
unison. And knowing this, of course I feel deeply that to wound either
heart by telling of misfortune to the other is a task from which a man
like me might very properly shrink. But I have a duty to perform--a
solemn duty. What would you say, my dear madam, if I should tell you