"I was in town all the morning," he explained in a trembling voice, "and I
didn't get the news until a half hour ago. The saddest day of my life,
madam, is the one upon which I learn that I have outlived him."
"He loved you, Major," said Mrs. Ambler, meeting his swimming eyes.
"Loved me!" repeated the old man, quivering in his chair, "I tell you,
madam, I would rather have been Peyton Ambler's friend than President of
the Confederacy! Do you remember the time he gave me his last keg of brandy
and went without for a month?"
She nodded, smiling, and the Major, with red eyes and shaking hands,
wandered into endless reminiscences of the long friendship. To Betty these
trivial anecdotes were only a fresh torture, but Mrs. Ambler followed them
eagerly, comparing her recollections with the Major's, and repeating in a
low voice to herself characteristic stories which she had not heard before.
"I remember that--we had been married six months then," she would say, with
the unearthly light upon her face. "It is almost like living again to hear
you, Major."
"Well, madam, life is a sad affair, but it is the best we've got,"
responded the old gentleman, gravely.
"He loved it," returned Mrs. Ambler, and as the Major rose to go, she
followed him into the hall and inquired if Mrs. Lightfoot had been
successful with her weaving. "She told me that she intended to have her old
looms set up again," she added, "and I think that I shall follow her
example.
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