At a Girl's Mercy, or, The Fortunes of War — page 226: what you’re looking at

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

AT A GIRFI’S MERCY. » 216 CHAPTER XXIII. THE END AND THE BEGINNING. The war was at anend. The struggle was over. There were the dead, and the homes left desolate, and the hearts sick with longing for those who could never return, but brave with the knowledge that their dear ones fought well and bravely for the end. There were the numberless graves in the church- yards, and the countless graves without headstone or the sanctity of the church’s shadow above them on the fields, but peace had come once more to our beloved land, and hearts should not fail at the lives laid down for its winning. And what a contrast to the battle-fields, with their dead and their thunder, was the quiet old Hall in > the midst of its lawn and the fragrant garden toward the south, where the carnations and the blue bells of Canterbury breathed their lives out under the sunny skies. No battle there, and no hint of thun- der and blood of the fields, where brave men gave their lives and noble women gave their hearts’ best gifts for the ending of the struggle. Five years had passed since the night that Nan Courtland, in the pride of her womanhood and the knowledge that her brothers were fighting on the battle-fields, faced the daring chief of the burglars, who would have robbed them of their peace and their gold, spurred on by the man who hated her, had it not been for her brave spirit. Five years, and again the old Hall resounded with laughter and the noise of men’s voices and the ringing whistle that had made the old place echo with life since the boys romped through the rooms and the shadowy halls. There was commotion, too, more than the everyday life would cause through the house and the lawn and garden. There was the burst of happy song on the lips of the daughter of the house, and comicbooks:co