through the undergrowth, but the whole place was
completely ruined; a little snake slid from the broken base of a
sun-dial; the tall chimneys of the house were already beginning to
crumble, and birds and squirrels lived in their crevices and flitted
about their lofty tops. At some distance an old negro was singing,--it
must have been Milton himself, still unbesought by his dependents, and
the song was full of strange, monotonous wails and plaintive cadences,
like a lament for war itself, and all the misery that follows in its
train.

Colonel Bellamy had not spoken for some moments, but when they reached
the terrace which had been before the house there were two flights of
stone steps that led to empty air, and these were still adorned by
some graceful railings and balusters, bent and rusty and broken.

"You will observe this iron-work, sir," said the Colonel, stopping to
regard with pride almost the only relic of the former beauty and state
of Fairford. "My grandfather had the pattern carefully planned in
Charleston, where such work was formerly well done by Frenchmen." He
stopped to point out certain charming features of the design with his
walking-stick, and then went on without a glance at the decaying
chimneys or the weed-grown cellars and heaps of stones beneath.

The lovely October morning was more than half gone when Milton brought
the horse round to the door, and the moment came to say farewell. The
Colonel had shown sincere eagerness that the visit should be prolonged
for at least another day, but a reason for hurry which the young man
hardly confessed to himself was urging him back along the way he had
come. He was ready to forget his plans for shooting and wandering
eastward on the river shore. He had paid a parting visit to Madam
Bellamy in her own room, where she lay on a couch in the sunshine, and
had seen the silver cup--a lucky cup he devoutly hoped it might indeed
be--on a light stand by her side. It held a few small flowers, as if
it had so been brought in to her in the early morning. Her eyes were
dim with weeping. She had not thought of its age and history, neither
did the sight of such pathetic loot wake bitter feelings against her
foes. It was only the cup that her little children had used, one after
another, in their babyhood; the last and dearest had kept it longest,
and even he was dead--fallen in battle, like the rest.

She wore a hood and wrapping of black lace, which brought out the
delic