“‘Deplore!’”—­

“I chose my word badly,” said Rand, with the good-nature that always disarmed; “I shall not weep over my enemy, I only mean that I would not ignobly exult.  Of course, sir, it is great news—­the very greatest!  And all here will now want the leisure of the day.”

“Tell them, Lewis, that I’ll excuse them,” said Cousin Jane Selden.  “We won’t have a feast on the day of a funeral.”

* * * * *

A little later, deep in the embrace of the old Selden coach, husband and wife began their journey to the house on the Three-Notched Road.  In the minutes that followed the disposal of their wedding guests it had been settled that they would not return to Mrs. Selden’s—­it was best to go home instead.  Cousin Jane would take Deb; Unity must return at once to Fontenoy.  Hamilton and Edward Churchill had served together on Washington’s staff; of late years they had seldom met, but the friendship remained.  Unity knew, but would not speak of it, that Uncle Edward had finished, only the night before, a long letter to his old comrade-at-arms.  With the exception of Deb, all the little party were aware that Jacqueline Rand’s chances for forgiveness from her uncles were measurably slighter for this day’s tidings.  She seemed dazed, pale as her gown, but very quiet.  She held Deb in her arms, and kissed Unity and Cousin Jane Selden.  Her husband lifted her into the coach, wrung the others’ hands, and followed her.  “Good-bye, Lewis,” said Mrs. Selden at the door.  “I’ll send a bowl of arrack to your men, and I’ll ride over to-morrow to see Jacqueline.  Good-bye, children, and God bless you both!”

The coach and four took the dusty road.  A turn, and Saint Margaret’s was hidden, another, and they were in a wood of beech and maple.  The heat of the day was broken, and a wind was blowing.  Rand took Jacqueline’s hands, unclasped and chafed them.  “So cold!” he said.  “Why could we not have heard this news to-morrow!”

She shuddered strongly.  “The noble—­the great—­” her voice broke.

“Is it so you think of him?” he asked.  “Well—­I, too, will call him noble and great—­to-day.

     “No more for him the warmth of the bright sun;
     Nor blows upon his brow the wind of night!

“He’s gone—­and we all shall go.  But this is our wedding day.  Let us forget—­let us forget all else but that!”

“I grieve for the country,” she said.

He kissed her hand.  “Poor country!  But her Sons die every day.  She is like Nature—­she takes no heed.  Let us, too, forget!”

“Oh, his poor wife—­”

Rand drew her to him.  “Will you mourn for me when I am dead?”

“No,” she answered.  “We will die together.—­Oh, Lewis, Lewis, Lewis!”

“You promised that you would be happy,” he said, and kissed her.  “You promised you would not let Fontenoy and the things of Fontenoy stand like a spectre between us.  Forget this, too.  Everywhere there is dying.  But it is our wedding day—­and I love you madly—­and life and the kingdoms of life lie before us!  If you are not happy, how can I be so?”