time the martial cortege reached the little Presbyterian
cemetery. The young man wrapped in the general's cloak was soon laid
away in the shallow grave, which had hastily been made ready for him.
Seymour, attended by the two other American officers, Armstrong and
Lewis, after cutting off a lock of Talbot's dark hair for his mother,
read the burial service out of the young soldier's own little Prayer
Book, which he had found in the pocket of his coat; as the earth was
put upon him, Cornwallis and his officers stood about reverently
uncovered, while the sailor read with faltering lips the old familiar
words, which for twenty centuries have whispered of comfort to the
heart-broken children of men, and illumined the dark future by an
eternal hope--nay, rather, fixed assurance--of life everlasting.

There was one tender-hearted woman there too, one of the sweet-faced
daughters of the kindly Quaker, Miss Clark. She had taken time to
twine a hasty wreath from the fragrant ever-verdant pine; when the
little mound of earth was finished, softly she laid it down, breathing
a prayer for the mother in far-off Virginia as she did so.

Then they all drew back while the well-trained soldiers fired the last
three volleys, and the drummers beat the last call. 'T was the same
simple ending which closes the career of all soldiers, of whatever
degree, when they come to occupy those narrow quarters, where earthly
considerations of rank and station are forgot.

"Sir, I beg to thank you for this distinguished courtesy," said
Seymour, with deep feeling, extending his hand to the knightly Briton.

"Do not mention it, sir, I beg of you," replied Cornwallis, shaking his
hand warmly. "You will do the same for one of us, I am sure, should
occasion ever demand a like service at your hands. I will see that
your other men and officers are properly buried. Do you return now?"

"Immediately, my lord."

"Pray present my compliments to Mr.--nay, General--Washington," said
the generous commander, "and congratulate him upon his brilliant
campaign. Ay, and tell him we look forward eagerly to trying
conclusions with him again. Good-by, sir. Come, gentlemen," he cried,
raising his hat gracefully as he mounted his horse and rode away,
followed by his staff.

CHAPTER XXIX

_The Last of the Talbots_

It was with a sinking heart that Seymour rode up the hill toward Fairview
Hall a few days later. There had been a light fall of snow during