Weeks rolled on and passed into months, and still he was refused speech with, or right of, Hannah.  And he chafed at the denial.  Had she not risked everything to save his life?  And he could not even thank her!

At length, being unable to find further excuse wherewith to put him off, they one day told him he could see his love.  They endeavored to prepare him by hints and suggestions as to the probable consequences of the trial she had passed through, but all that they could say or he imagine had not prepared him for the fearful sight.

Poor Hannah Lee!  This scarred, deformed and helpless body, without proper hands—­oh! white hands, how well he remembered them!—­without comeliness of form or feature, was all that was left of the once glorious creature, whose heaven-given beauty had ensnared his fresh and untutored heart!  Poor Hannah Lee!

The rough youth, loving her yet, but repelled by the horrible aspect she presented, fell sobbing upon his knees and buried his face in the bed-clothing.  He spoke no word, but the tumultuous throes of his agony shook the room as he knelt beside her.  And from the bed arose a wail more terrible in its utter, eternal sorrowfulness than had ever fallen upon the ears of those present.  It was the wail of a soul recognizing for the first time that the loveliness of life had passed away forever.

They mingled their cries thus for a little time, and then Jason arose and staggered from the room.  He would have spoken, but the dreadful sorrow rose up and choked him.  All the memories of the past were linked with youth and beauty.  He could not speak to the blight before him, as to his love and his life, and so, with blind and lumbering footsteps, he toiled heavily from the house.

The fires of the Revolution had broken forth and swept over New England, burning out like stubble the little loyalty to the crown left in men’s hearts.

At the battle of Bunker Hill Jason Fletcher fought like a tiger.  Last among the latest, he clubbed his musket, and was driven slowly backward from the slight redoubt.

He was heard of at White Plains, at Trenton, Princeton, Brandywine, Germantown, and always with marvelous mention of courage and prowess.  Then he was promoted from the ranks, and was mentioned as ’Lieutenant Fletcher.’  Then there were rumors of some dishonor that had sullied the brightness of his fame; and then it came to be hinted about that in all the rank and file of the patriot army there was no one so utterly dissolute and drunken as he.  And then came news of his ignominiously quitting the service, and a cloud dropped down about him, and no word, good or bad, came home from the castaway any more.

Meanwhile poor Hannah Lee languished upon her bed of suffering, but did not die.  And finally, when spring after spring had spread new verdure over the rough hills among which she dwelt, she got, by little and little, to venturing out into the village streets.  And when they saw her bowed form and her ugly, misshapen hands, the village children, knowing her history, forbore to sneer at or taunt her.  All the village loved the unfortunate creature, and all the village strove together to do her kindness.