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evening in the spring of 1776, in a small town of one of the early Colonies, a young couple were saying their sad farewell.

John Pendexter had enlisted, and the next morning would find him well on his way to join his regiment. At this time he had come to have his last talk with Susanna Carwin, his affianced.

Long had they been sitting before the open fireplace, many plans had they laid for the future; and, when the shadows began to gather in the corners of the low-posted, spacious room, John remembered the numerous arrangements he had to make before leaving his mother, already widowed by the war.

Turning to Susanna, in whose black eyes a world of sorrow was expressed, he took her hand, now cold and damp, in his broad palm, and led her to one of the deep windows in the room facing eastward.

Susanna leaned her head against the edge of the sliding shutter, and mustered all her will-power to keep back the bitter tears.

John said, "Susanna, I want you to wear this little ring until I return. I will put it on your finger, with a wish for our future happiness and the freedom of our country." He slipped the tiny circlet on her finger, saying, "My love for you is like this ring,—without end."

Susanna said, "My heart is too full of woe to-night, John, to say half that I want to. I feel a cloud of sadness settling over me. How can I live without you? How can I let you go?" sobbed forth the poor girl.

"Susanna, we have talked this over many times; and to-morrow you will feel about the matter as you have felt in times past. Dear girl, I must go! Keep up good heart, and remember our happy home in the future, God willing."

He put his arm around her, and drew her towards him, as he walked out into the great hall for his hat.

Susanna picked up a small leather-bound Bible from a half-round table standing in the hall, and gave it to him, saying, "Take this with you, John: it was mother's, and I have always used it."

With a misty look in his frank blue eyes, John Pendexter took the book, and carefully put it in the pocket of his home-spun coat. For a few minutes he seemed to try to smooth his rough hat, as if his whole attention was given to the trivial matter. At once he thrust the hat onto his head, put his arms around the tearful girl, kissed her many times, bade her good-by, and, without waiting to hear her trembling words, swung open the great door, and walked with long, strengthful strides down the walk to the road.

Susanna stood by the heavy stair-post, much like a lily beaten by the wind. At last she went into the room again, and stood by the window watching the tall, stalwart form stalking along the sloppy road, in the gloaming of a dull spring day: she saw him turn the corner by the meeting-house, and then he passed out of her sight. Susanna felt that her heart, her life, had gone with him.