Her waking hours were mainly spent, book in hand, under the old apple-tree that daily grew dearer to her.
The exalted mood in which we found her was broken in upon by the sound of some one shutting the gate below very emphatically.

Looking down she saw her father approaching with such visible signs in face and demeanor of strong excitement that she arose and went to him.
"Why, father, what can be the matter ?" she said, stopping in front of him, with the open book pressed to her breast.
"Matter enough, I'm afraid, Rachel.

There's been a battle near a place called Rich Mountain, in Western Virginia, and Harry Glen's---" "O, father," she said, growing very white, "Harry's killed." "No; not killed." The old man's lip curled with scorn.

"It's worse.

He seems to've suddenly discovered he wasn't prepared to die; he didn't want to rush all at once into the presence of his Maker.