ep sounded in the hall, and Patty came in
upon us. Her colour at once betrayed her understanding. To my infinite
relief her father dropped my fingers, and asked cheerily if there was any
news from the town meeting.

On the following Wednesday, with her flag flying and her sails set, the
Peggy Stewart was run ashore on Windmill Point. She rose, a sacrifice to
Liberty, in smoke to heaven, before the assembled patriots of our city.

That very night a dear friend to Liberty passed away. He failed so
suddenly that Patty had no time to call for aid, and when the mother had
been carried in, his spirit was flown. We laid him high on the hill
above the creek, in the new lot he had bought and fenced around. The
stone remains:

HERE LIETH

HENRY SWAIN, BARRISTER.
BORN MAY 13, 1730 (O.S.);
DIED OCTOBER 19, 1774.
Fidus Amicis atque Patrice.

The simple inscription, which speaks volumes to those who knew him, was
cut after the Revolution. He was buried with the honours of a statesman,
which he would have been had God spared him to serve the New Country
which was born so soon after his death.

RICHARD CARVEL

By Winston Churchill

Volume 8.

L. Farewell to Gordon's
LI. How an Idle Prophecy came to pass
LII. How the Gardener's Son fought the Serapis
LIII. In which I make Some Discoveries
LIV. More Discoveries.
LV. The Love of a Maid for a Man
LVI. How Good came out of Evil
LVII. I come to my Own again

CHAPTER L

FAREWELL TO GORDON'S

I cannot bear to recall my misery of mind after Mr. Swain's death.
One hope had lightened all the years of my servitude. For, when I
examined my soul, I knew that it was for Dorothy I had laboured. And
every letter that came from Comyn telling me she was still free gave me
new heart for my work. By some mystic communion--I know not what--I felt
that she loved me yet, and despite distance and degree. I would wake of
a morning with the knowledge of it, and be silent for half the day with
some particle of a dream in my head, lingering like the burden of a song
with its train of memories.

So, in the days that followed, I scarce knew myself. For a while
(I shame to write it) I avoided that sweet woman who had made my comfort
her care, whose father had taken me when I was homeless. The good in me
cried out, but the flesh rebelled.

Poor Patty! Her grief for her father was pathetic to see.