It is a tenderness for its object--a wish to
serve and give all in return for what it receives.
Martine vaguely felt this change in Helen long before he
understood it. He saw only a warmer glow of sisterly affection,
too high a valuation of his self-denying work, and a more generous
attempt to give him all the solace and support within her power.
One day in July, when the war was well over and the field
hospitals long since broken up, he wrote from Washington, where he
was still pursuing his labors:
"My work is drawing to a close. Although I have not accomplished a
tithe of what I wished to do, and have soon so much left undone, I
am glad to remember that I have alleviated much pain and, I think,
saved some lives. Such success as I have had, dear Helen, has
largely been due to you. Your letters have been like manna. You do
not know--it would be impossible for you to know--the strength
they have given, the inspiration they have afforded. I am
naturally very weary and worn physically, and the doctors say I
must soon have rest; but your kind words have been life-giving to
my soul.
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