rl sitting there by the door near the water on one of the
benches, gazing out over the broad reaches of the quiet, ever beautiful
Potomac, rippled gently by the wind under the late afternoon sun. The
gallant little breeze, fragrant with balm and perfume of the trees and
flowers, kissed a faint color into her pale cheek, and seemed to
whisper to her despondent heart in murmuring sounds that framed
themselves into the immortal words "hope, hope."

The young girl had but yesterday entered upon her twentieth spring.
Four months ago there had not been a merrier, lighter-hearted, gayer,
more coquettish young maiden in tidewater Virginia; and to-day, she
thought, as she looked down at her thin hand outlined so clearly upon
the vivid cardinal cloak she wore, which had dropped unheeded on the
seat by her side, to-day she was like that man in the play of whom her
father read,--a grave man. No, not a man at all. Once, in her
enthusiasm, she had fondly imagined that she had possessed all those
daring qualities of energy and action, those manly virtues, which might
have been hers by inheritance could the accident of sex have been
reversed. But now she knew she was but a woman, after all,--so weak,
so feeble, so listless. What had she left to live for? Once it was
her father, then it was her country, then it was her lover; now?
Nothing! Her father at the request of Congress would soon resume his
interrupted duties in France, now become more important than ever. He
was a man of the world and a soldier, a diplomat. The hard experiences
of the past few months were for him episodes, exciting truly, but only
part of a lifetime spent in large adventure, soon forgotten in some
other strenuous part demanded by some other strenuous exigency. But
she,--no, she was not a man at all, but a woman,--unused to such scenes
and happenings as fate had lately made her a participant in. Her
father might have his country,--he had not lost his love, his heart was
not buried out in the depths of the cruel sea. What had become of that
Roman patriotism upon which she prided herself in times past? Her
country! What had changed her so? There were many answers.

There was Blodgett's grave at the foot of the hill. She had played in
childhood with that faithful old soldier. Many a tale had he told her
of her gallant father when, as a young man, he gayly rode away to the
wars, leaving her lady mother in tears behind. She could sympathize
with wa