d him for the fearful sight.

Poor Hannah Lee! This scarred, deformed and helpless body, without
proper hands--oh! white hands, how well he remembered them!--without
comeliness of form or feature, was all that was left of the once
glorious creature, whose heaven-given beauty had ensnared his fresh and
untutored heart! Poor Hannah Lee!

The rough youth, loving her yet, but repelled by the horrible aspect she
presented, fell sobbing upon his knees and buried his face in the
bed-clothing. He spoke no word, but the tumultuous throes of his agony
shook the room as he knelt beside her. And from the bed arose a wail
more terrible in its utter, eternal sorrowfulness than had ever fallen
upon the ears of those present. It was the wail of a soul recognizing
for the first time that the loveliness of life had passed away forever.

They mingled their cries thus for a little time, and then Jason arose
and staggered from the room. He would have spoken, but the dreadful
sorrow rose up and choked him. All the memories of the past were linked
with youth and beauty. He could not speak to the blight before him, as
to his love and his life, and so, with blind and lumbering footsteps, he
toiled heavily from the house.

The fires of the Revolution had broken forth and swept over New England,
burning out like stubble the little loyalty to the crown left in men's
hearts.

At the battle of Bunker Hill Jason Fletcher fought like a tiger. Last
among the latest, he clubbed his musket, and was driven slowly backward
from the slight redoubt.

He was heard of at White Plains, at Trenton, Princeton, Brandywine,
Germantown, and always with marvelous mention of courage and prowess.
Then he was promoted from the ranks, and was mentioned as 'Lieutenant
Fletcher.' Then there were rumors of some dishonor that had sullied the
brightness of his fame; and then it came to be hinted about that in all
the rank and file of the patriot army there was no one so utterly
dissolute and drunken as he. And then came news of his ignominiously
quitting the service, and a cloud dropped down about him, and no word,
good or bad, came home from the castaway any more.

Meanwhile poor Hannah Lee languished upon her bed of suffering, but did
not die. And finally, when spring after spring had spread new verdure
over the rough hills among which she dwelt, she got, by little and
little, to venturing out into the village streets. And when they saw her
bowed form and her ugly,