eymour! he must overwhelm her with bad news in every field of her
affection. For a moment he almost wished the results had been the other
way. The perspiration stood out upon his forehead in spite of the
coldness, and he felt he would rather charge a battery than face this
terrible old woman who put the armies of a king--and such a king
too--before the fate of her only son! And yet he knew that what he had
to tell her would break down even her iron will, and reaching the
mother's heart beating warm within her in spite of her assumed coldness
and self-repression, would probably give her a death-blow. He felt
literally like a murderer before her, but he had to answer. Talbot's own
letter, General Washington's command, and the promptings of his own
affection had made him an actor in this pathetic drama. He had no choice
but to proceed. The truth must be told. Nerving himself to the
inevitable, he replied to her question,--

"The armies of the king have been defeated and forced to retire. General
Washington has outmanoeuvred and outfought them; they are now shut up in
New York again. The Jerseys are free, and we have taken upward of two
thousand prisoners, and many are killed and wounded among them,--on both
sides, in truth," he added.

"The worst news first," she replied. "One knows not why these things are
so. It seems the God of Justice slumbers when subjects rebel against
their rightful kings! But I have faith, sir. The right will win in the
end--must win."

"So be it," he said, accepting the implied challenge, but adding nothing
further. He would wait to be questioned now, and this strange woman
should have the story in the way that pleased her best. As for her she
could not trust herself to speak. Never before had her trembling body,
her beating heart escaped from the domination of her resolute will.
Never before had her mobile lips refused to formulate the commands of her
active brain. She fought her battle out in silence, and finally turned
toward him once more.

"There was something else you said, I think. My--my son?" Her voice
sank to a whisper; in spite of herself one hand went to her heart. Ah,
mother, mother, this was indeed thy king! "Is--is he wounded?--My God,
sir! Not dead?"

His open hand which he had extended to her held two little objects. What
were they? The bright sunlight was reflected from one of them, the
locket she had given him. There was a dark discoloration on one