CHAPTER XX.
JOSCELYN’S PERIL.
“First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And, ever since, it grew more clean and white,
Slow to world greetings, quick with its ‘O list!’
When the angels speak.”
—Mrs. Browning.
Thus the months had come and gone, and come again, until three years had passed since Richard’s company marched away that winter day to join their comrades at Valley Forge. Three years of warfare, and victory yet faltered to remain with either standard, but wavered like a fickle woman from side to side. And Joscelyn held to her allegiance, wearing her scarlet bodice in open rejoicing at news of an English victory, and decking herself in sombre mourning when tidings of the American triumph at King’s Mountain thrilled the country with an awakened hope. And in these habiliments she walked the streets, or sat upon her balcony, that none might be in doubt as to her feelings.
“Joscelyn Cheshire be as good as a war barometer,” said Mistress Strudwick; “one has but to look at her to know whether to rejoice or to sorrow.”
Vainly her mother argued with the girl, showing the danger she ran of drawing upon them both the enmity of the community.