avenue, each followed by his own
servant--and out at the great gate. Walter wheeled his horse. "One last
look at the old home, Art," he said; "we may never see it again."

"Always sentimental, Wal," laughed Arthur, somewhat scornfully; "but have
your way." And he, too, wheeled about for a last farewell look.

The moon had just risen, and by her silvery light the lordly mansion--with
its clustering vines, the gardens, the lawn, the shrubbery, and the grand
old trees--was distinctly visible. Never had the place looked more lovely.
The evening breeze brought to their nostrils the delicious scent of roses
in full bloom, and a nightingale poured forth a song of ravishing
sweetness from a thicket hard by.

Somehow her song seemed to go to Walter's very heart and a sad foreboding
oppressed him as they gazed and listened for several moments, then turned
their horses' heads and galloped down the road.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH.

"Is't death to fall for Freedom's right?
He's dead alone who lacks her light."
--CAMPBELL.

Wee Elsie was convalescing rapidly, and the hearts so wrung with anguish
at sight of her sufferings and the fear of losing her, relieved from that,
were again filled with the intense anxiety for their country, which for a
short space had been half forgotten in the severity of the trial
apparently so close at hand.

Mails from America came irregularly; now and then letters and papers from
Philadelphia, New York, and other parts of the North; very seldom anything
from the South.

What was going on in their homes? what were dear relatives and friends
doing and enduring? were questions they were often asking of themselves or
each other--questions answered by a sigh only, or a shake of the head. The
suspense was hard to bear; but who of all Americans, at home or abroad,
who loved their native land, were not suffering at this time from anxiety
and suspense?

"A vessel came in last night, which I hope has a mail for us," remarked
Mr. Dinsmore as they sat down to the breakfast table one morning early in
November. "I have sent Uncle Joe to find out; and bring it, if there."

"Ah, if it should bring the glorious news that this dreadful war is over,
and all our dear ones safe!" sighed Rose.

"Ah, no hope of that," returned her husband. "I think all are well-nigh
convinced now that it will last for years: the enlistments now, you
remember, are for three years or the war