“In my bedroom I am writing to you the adieu I should have said the night you left.  Murphy, a rifleman, goes to you with despatches in an hour:  he will take this to you, ... wherever you are.

“I saw the man you sent in.  Father says he must surely hang.  He was so pale and silent, he looked so dreadfully tired—­and I have been crying a little—­I don’t know why, because all say he is a great villain.

“I wonder whether you are well and whether you remember me.” ("me” was crossed out and “us” written very carefully.) “The house is so strange without you.  I go into your room sometimes.  Cato has pressed all your fine clothes.  I go into your room to read.  The light is very good there.  I am reading the Poems of Pansard.  You left a fern between the pages to mark the poem called ‘Our Deaths’; did you know it?  Do you admire that verse?  It seems sad to me.  And it is not true, either.  Lovers seldom die together.” (This was crossed out, and the letter went on.) “Two people who love—­” ("love” was crossed out heavily and the line continued)—­“two friends seldom die at the same instant.  Otherwise there would be no terror in death.

“I forgot to say that Isene, your mare, is very well.  Papa and the children are well, and Ruyven a-pestering General Schuyler to make him a cornet in the legion of horse, and Cecile, all airs, goes about with six officers to carry her shawl and fan.

“For me—­I sit with Lady Schuyler when I have the opportunity.  I love her; she is so quiet and gentle and lets me sit by her for hours, perfectly silent.  Yesterday she came into your room, where I was sitting, and she looked at me for a long time—­so strangely—­and I asked her why, and she shook her head.  And after she had gone I arranged your linen and sprinkled lavender among it.

“You see there is so little to tell you, except that in the afternoon some Senecas and Tories shot at one of our distant tenants, a poor man, one Christian Schell; and he beat them off and killed eleven, which was very brave, and one of the soldiers made a rude song about it, and they have been singing it all night in their quarters.  I heard them from your room—­where I sometimes sleep—­the air being good there; and this is what they sang: 

     “’A story, a story
       Unto you I will tell,
     Concerning a brave hero,
       One Christian Schell.

     “’Who was attacked by the savages. 
       And Tories, it is said;
     But for this attack
       Most freely they bled.

     “’He fled unto his house
       For to save his life. 
     Where he had left his arms
       In care of his wife.

     “’They advanced upon him
       And began to fire,
     But Christian with his blunderbuss
       Soon made them retire.

     “’He wounded Donald McDonald
       And drew him in the door,
     Who gave an account
       Their strength was sixty-four.