At the parsonage, death had accomplished his work, and the room in which we have already seen Mr. Sinclair, bears the solemn impress of his presence. Beside the bed on which the lifeless limbs have been composed with tender care, the pastor kneels. His prayer is no longer, "Let this cup pass from me"--he is struggling for power to say, "Father, not my will, but Thine be done!" In an upper room lies Mary Sinclair. Tears are falling fast as summer rain-drops from her closed eyes; but she utters neither sob nor moan, and by the dim light of the shaded lamp she seems to the two women, who, with well-meant but officious kindness, have insisted on watching with her through the night, to sleep. A slight noise in the street causes one of these women to start, and she whispers to the other, "I am 'feard of every thing to-night--the least noise puts me all of a trimble, for I'm thinking of my Jack. He's gone to guard that British soger, and I shouldn't wonder if he had a skrimmage about him before morning." "And I must say, Miss Dunham, if he did, it would be nothin' more than them deserves us would go for to guard them cruel British." "But they do say, Miss Caxton, that this Capin--for Jack says he is a Capin--was better than the rest--that he took the part of our people every where when he found there wasn't any fair fight, and that he was drivin' his men to the ships when we caught him." "Them may believe that that will, but for my part I think that it must be a poor, mean speritted American that will hold guard over one of them British----" "Not so mean speritted as you think perhaps," said Jack's mother with a flushed face. "Well, I must say, Miss Dunham, I never thought Jack would do such a thing--if I had----" Miss Caxton stopped abruptly, but her companion would hear the whole--"Well ma'am, if you had--what if you had?" "Why, then, Miss Dunham, I shouldn't have been so well pleased to see him keepin' company with my Sarah--but after this, of course, that's at an end." "May be, Miss Caxton, you may think to-morrow mornin' that it would have been just as well to wait till the night was gone before you said that--when you see the British Capin hanging by the neck in his fine regimentals, and hear that his guard were the men that did it--as I know they've sworn to do--you may think after all they an't so mean speritted." "Miss Dunham! if they'll do that, I'll unsay every word I've said, and proud enough I would be to call one of 'em my son-in-law--but now do tell me all about it--she's asleep you see," glancing at Mary Sinclair, "and there an't nobody to hear."