" Long, long did Mary
wear this letter next her heart, and still no other came to take its
place.
They had parted in 1813, just as the falling leaves came to herald the
approach of winter. That winter passed with Mary in vain longing and
vainer hopes. Spring again clothed her home with beauty, but there came
no spring to her heart. Summer brought joy and gladness to the earth,
but not to her, and another autumn closed over her in anxious suspense.
There were moments when she could almost have prayed to have that dread
silence broken even by a voice from the tomb--other times in which she
threw herself on her knees in thankfulness that she could yet hope. From
Major Scott she had heard that Captain Percy's regiment had been sent to
the South, but of him individually even Major Scott knew nothing. At
length came the eighth of January, that day of vain triumph on which
thousands fell in the contest for rights already lost and won--the
treaty of peace having been signed at Ghent on the twenty-fourth of the
preceding month. Forgetful of this useless hecatomb at war's relentless
shrine, America echoed the gratulations of the victors which fell with
scathing power on the heart of the trembling Mary.
Pages:
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381