It was just the same with Mr. Dinsmore; in a trice he had unlocked the bag and emptied its contents—magazines, papers, letters—upon a table.
Rose's eye fell upon a letter, deeply edged with black, which bore her name and address in May's handwriting. She snatched it up with a sharp cry, and sank, half-fainting, into a chair.
Her husband and Elsie were instantly at her side. "Dear wife, my love, my darling! this is terrible; but the Lord will sustain you."
"Mamma, dearest mamma; oh that I could comfort you!"
Mr. Travilla brought a glass of water.
"Thank you; I am better now; I can bear it," she murmured faintly, laying her head on her husband's shoulder. "Open—read—tell me."
Elsie, in compliance with the sign from her father, opened the envelope and handed him the letter.
Glancing over it, he read in low, moved tones.
"Rose, Rose, how shall I tell it? Freddie is dead, and Ritchie sorely wounded—both in that dreadful, dreadful battle of Ball's Bluff; both shot while trying to swim the river. Freddie killed instantly by a bullet in his brain, but Ritchie swam to shore, dragging Fred's body with him; then fainted from fatigue, pain, and loss of blood.
"Mamma is heart-broken—indeed we all are—and papa seems to have suddenly grown many years older. Oh, we don't know how to bear it! and yet we are proud of our brave boys. Edward went on at once, when the sad news reached us; brought Ritchie home to be nursed, and—and Freddie's body to be buried. Oh! what a heart-breaking scene it was when they arrived!