iting women now, and understand. Those were such deeds of
daring that the rude recital of the old man once stirred her very heart
with joy and terror; now she was sick at the thought of them. And
Blodgett was gone; he had died defending them, where he had been
stationed. That was an answer.

There, too, far away in another State, lay the lover of her girlhood's
happy day,--the bright-eyed, eager, gallant, joyous lad. What good
comrades they had been! How they had laughed, and played, and ridden,
and rowed, and hunted, and danced, and flirted, through the morning of
life,--how pleasant had been that life indeed! He was quiet now; she
could no longer join in his ringing laugh, the sound of his voice was
stilled, they might never play together again,--was there any play at
all in life? That was another answer.

There was the white-haired mother, the stately little royalist, Madam
Talbot, who slept in peace on the hill at Fairview Hall, her ambitions,
her hopes, and her loyalty buried with her, leaving the place
untenanted save by wistful memories; she too had gone.

Answers?--they crowded thick upon her! There were the officers of the
Yarmouth, Captain Vincent, Beauchamp, Hollins, and the little boy, the
Honorable Giles, and all the other officers and men with whom she had
come in contact on that frightful cruise. There were the heroic men
who had stayed by their ship, who had seen the favored few go away in
the only boat that was left seaworthy, without a murmur at being left
behind, who had faced death unheeding, unrepining, sinking down in the
dark water with a cheer upon their lips. There was the old sailor,
too, with his unquenchable patriotism, her friend because the friend of
her lover; and Philip, her brother; and there was Seymour himself. Ah,
what were all the rest to him! Gone, and how she loved him!

She leaned her head upon her hand and thought of him. Here in this
boat-house he had first spoken to her of his love. Here she had first
felt his lips touch her cheek. There, rocked gently by the light
breeze, upon the water at her feet was the familiar little
pleasure-boat; she had not allowed any one to row her about in it since
her return, in spite of much entreaty. It was this very cloak she wore
that day, nearly the very hour. The place was redolent with sweet
memories of happy days, though to think on them now broke her heart.
It all came back to her as it had come again and again. She br