Is she not proud? Doth she not count her blessed,
Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought
So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?
—Shakspere.
First came the news of the glorious victory of Yorktown—the final and signal triumph of the American arms. There were no railroads and telegraphic wires in those days, and very few newspapers. The report, the re-echo of this splendid victory, rolled on toward their quiet neighborhood like a storm; in clouds of doubt, in thunder and lightning of astonishment, joy, and mad triumph. The most delirious rejoicing convulsed the whole village and neighborhood for days, before any newspaper arrived with an account of the battle.
And the same mail that brought the newspaper, with a long account of the battle, headed in great capital letters line below line, brought also a letter sealed with black that sped like a bullet through the foreboding heart of Mrs. Chester, a letter from Colonel Chester, announcing the glorious death of his two brave sons upon the field of victory.
Mrs. Chester was overwhelmed with grief by the twofold bereavement, the fall of both her gallant sons, of whom she was as proud as fond.
She did not dream of the calamity, worse than death, that had befallen Alice, in the disguise of a princely inheritance, destined to darken her whole life with sorrow, while it mocked her in the face of the world with its unreal light and splendor.
But there was one who was not so forgetful—Colonel Chester. He was still with the army, but another letter was received from him, announcing his speedy return home, accompanied by his friend and companion in arms, General Garnet, a young officer, who, though but thirty years of age, had risen to the highest rank in the army, and won an immortal fame.
Colonel Chester came at length, accompanied by General Garnet. He met Alice with great empressement—for it was scarcely great affection—praised her growth and her beauty, introduced General Garnet, and, excusing himself for a few moments, passed to the sick-chamber of his wife.