es active in war. They lost no time in doing that.
The drama of each drew to a splendid climax with the arrival in Newbern
of a French officer--probably a general--bound upon a grave mission.
Wilbur's general came to seek out the wife of Lyman Teaford.

To her he said in choice English: "Madame, I bring you sad news. This
young man died gallantly on the field of battle--the flag of my country
was about to be captured by the enemy when he leaped bravely forward,
where no other would dare the storm of shot and shell, and brought the
precious emblem safely back to our battle line. But even as the cheers
of his comrades rang in his ears an enemy bullet laid him low. I sprang
to his side and raised his head. His voice was already weak, for the
bullet had found rest in his noble heart.

"'Tell her,' he breathed, 'that she sent me to my death so that she
might become only a bird in a gilded cage. But tell her also that I wish
her happiness in her new life.' Madame, he died there, while weeping
soldiers clustered about with hats off and heads bowed--died with your
name on his pale lips---'My Pearl of great price,' he whispered, and all
was over. I bring you this photograph, which to the last he wore above
his heart. Observe the bullet hole and those dark stains that discolour
your proud features."

Whereupon Mrs. Lyman Teaford would fall fainting to the floor and never
again be the same woman, bearing to her grave a look of unutterable
sadness, even amid the splendours of the newly furnished Latimer
residence on North Oak Street.

Winona's drama was less depressing. Possibly Winona at thirty-two had
developed a resilience not yet achieved by Wilbur at twenty. She was not
going to die upon a field of battle for any Lyman Teaford. She would
brave dangers, however. She saw herself in a neat uniform, searching a
battlefield strewn with the dead and wounded. To the latter she
administered reviving cordial from a minute cask suspended at her trim
waist by a cord. Shells burst about her, but to these she paid no heed.
It was thus the French officer--a mere lieutenant, later promoted for
gallantry under fire--first observed her. He called her an angel of
mercy, and his soldiers--rough chaps, but hearty and outspoken--cheered
her as La Belle Americaine.

So much for the war. But the French officer--a general now, perhaps with
one arm off--came to Newbern to claim his bride. He had been one of the
impetuous sort that simply would no