re of the
man who had suffered, the soldier who had endured, which the weaker
nature recognized and rested on. To the general, during this time of
trouble, the young man became, in very truth, a son; the old debt of
kindness was canceled, and a new account opened with a change in the
balance.

As is usual in cases of lingering consumption, the end was very
sudden--so sudden, in fact, that Norma, still away with her northern
friends, received the telegram too late for word or look or farewell
kiss. She was traveling with Mrs. Vincent and the message followed her
from place to place.

On a still, beautiful May morning, Warner was laid to rest in the
Lanarth graveyard beside poor Temple Mason. It was the boy's own
request, and his mother felt constrained to comply with it, although
she would have preferred interring the remains of her child beside
those of her own people at Greenwood. The story of the young life
beating itself out against prison bars, had taken strong hold of the
lad's imagination, and the fancy grew that he too would sleep more
sweetly under the shadow of the old cedars in the land the young
soldier had loved so well.

Norma and Pocahontas stood near each other beside the new-made grave,
and as they quitted the inclosure, their hands met for an instant
coldly. Pocahontas tried not to harbor resentment, but she could not
forget whose hand it had been that had struck her the first bitter blow.

After Warner's death, Mrs. Smith appeared to collapse, mentally as well
as bodily. She remained day after day shut in his chamber, brooding
silently and rejecting with dumb apathy all sympathy and consolation.
Her strength and appetite declined, and her interest in life deserted
her, leaving a hopeless quiescence that was inexpressibly pitiful. Her
husband, in alarm for her life and reason, hurriedly decided to break
up the establishment at Shirley, and remove her for a time from
surroundings that constantly reminded her of her loss.

In the beginning of June, the move was made, the house closed, the
servants dismissed, and the care of the estate turned over to Berkeley.
With the dawning of summer, the birds of passage winged their flight
northward.

CHAPTER XIX.

There comes a time in human affairs, whether of nations or individuals,
when a dull exhausted calm appears to fall upon them--a period of
repose, a lull after the excitement of hurried events, a pause in which
to draw breath for the r