At a Girl's Mercy, or, The Fortunes of War — page 116: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Ss) AT A GIRL’S MERCY. 105 her &espair; the tender eyes grew wistful with the longing to know, and the dread of knowing, what lay before her in the gathering darkness of the night. Here, with the silence and the peace of the country around her, could it be that in the city not many miles away was the rabble and the riot? Was death doing his work under this quiet heaven? Was there only sorrow for her, and the sparrows so happy in the shadows of the elms? They did not mind her ap- proach, for they were used to the light step and the dainty figure waiting at the gate for the return of the carriage. Maybe they chirped more cheerily - and changed their calling to ‘‘cheer’”’ instead of the *“cheat’’ she had always heard them utter. She did not know. She was growing so listless and stunned that she could not quite tell what she did hear and see. There was a half uttered prayer in her heart, but it was so broken and disconnected that she could not even place it as she should. She seemed to have lost all power of thought. Only the dog remained at her side as she passed down the drive. He seemed to know that there was trouble for them. At the gate she paused and sat down on the great rock under the elm at the edge of the gateway. It was cool there and quiet, and she could not hear the muffied sounds of the house. She wanted to be away from all sounds for the present. Only the birds seemed to soothe her, and the knowledge of the dog’s faithfulness seemed to touch her. She smiled mechanically, and laid her hand upon his head. He understood and licked it with canine affection. How long she sat there with the dog’s head on her — lap, she would never know. Twilight deepened into the pallor of moonrise; the crickets cheeped in the tall grasses at the roadside; the birds in the Gomicbooks (e(0) m