Transcriber’s Note:

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

THE BRIDE’S FATE
The Sequel to “The Changed Brides”

By

MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH

AUTHOR OF

“A Leap in the Dark,” “The Lost Lady of Lone,” “Nearest and Dearest,” “Her Mother’s Secret,” “A Beautiful Fiend,” “Victor’s Triumph,” Etc.

I have set my life upon a cast,

And I will abide the hazard of the die.

—Shakespeare.

A. L. BURT COMPANY

Publishers New York

POPULAR BOOKS

By MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH

In Handsome Cloth Binding

Price per volume, 60 Cents

Beautiful Fiend, A

Brandon Coyle’s Wife

Sequel to A Skeleton in the Closet

Bride’s Fate, The

Sequel to The Changed Brides

Bride’s Ordeal, The

Capitola’s Peril

Sequel to the Hidden Hand

Changed Brides, The

Cruel as the Grave

David Lindsay

Sequel to Gloria

Deed Without a Name, A

Dorothy Harcourt’s Secret

Sequel to A Deed Without a Name

“Em”

Em’s Husband

Sequel to “Em”

Fair Play

For Whose Sake

Sequel to Why Did He Wed Her?

For Woman’s Love

Fulfilling Her Destiny

Sequel to When Love Commands

Gloria

Her Love or Her Life

Sequel to The Bride’s Ordeal

Her Mother’s Secret

Hidden Hand, The

How He Won Her

Sequel to Fair Play

Ishmael

Leap in the Dark, A

Lilith

Sequel to the Unloved Wife

Little Nea’s Engagement

Sequel to Nearest and Dearest

Lost Heir, The

Lost Lady of Lone, The

Love’s Bitterest Cup

Sequel to Her Mother’s Secret

Mysterious Marriage, The

Sequel to A Leap in the Dark

Nearest and Dearest

Noble Lord, A

Sequel to The Lost Heir

Self-Raised

Sequel to Ishmael

Skeleton in the Closet, A

Struggle of a Soul, The

Sequel to The Lost Lady of Lone

Sweet Love’s Atonement

Test of Love, The

Sequel to A Tortured Heart

To His Fate

Sequel to Dorothy Harcourt’s Secret

Tortured Heart, A

Sequel to The Trail of the Serpent

Trail of the Serpent, The

Tried for Her Life

Sequel to Cruel as the Grave

Unloved Wife, The

Unrequited Love, An

Sequel to For Woman’s Love

Victor’s Triumph

Sequel to A Beautiful Fiend

When Love Commands

When Shadows Die

Sequel to Love’s Bitterest Cup

Why Did He Wed Her?

Zenobia’s Suitors

Sequel to Sweet Love’s Atonement

For Sale by all Booksellers or will be sent postpaid on receipt of price,

A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS

52 Duane Street New York

CONTENTS.

THE BRIDE’S FATE.

CHAPTER I.
UNCHANGING LOVE.

“Kind friends may be to thee,

But love like hers thou’lt see,

Never again.”

Rest, peace, love, comfort were now Drusilla’s portions.

It was a new experience to the poor, discarded, and deposed young wife to find herself the central object of interest in a family like General Lyon’s, her health and happiness watched over and provided for with the most affectionate solicitude.

She had not a care in the world. She scarcely had a regret. She knew the worst. She knew that her last act had banished Alexander from her side. But when she looked upon her boy’s face, and reflected that no stigma now rested upon his baby brow, she could not regret her act. With the childlike simplicity of her character, she “accepted the situation.”

In the sunshine of this sweet old home, her heart expanded to all kindly sympathies.

She—the orphan girl, who had never been blessed by a father’s tender care, deeply responded to the affection bestowed on her by old General Lyon, and really doted on the fine veteran. At his desire she called him uncle; but she loved him as a father. She would watch and listen for his footsteps, in his daily visit to her sick room; and she would kiss and fondle his aged hands and then lift up her boy to receive his blessing.

And often on these occasions the veteran’s eyes filled with tears, as he glanced from the childish mother to the child, and murmured:

“Poor children! poor children! while I live you shall be my children.”

Anna was not less kind than her grandfather to Drusilla.

And she, the only daughter, who had never before known a sister’s companionship, loved Miss Lyon with a sister’s love, and delighted in her cheerful society.

She felt friendly towards Dick, and was very fond of the attentive old servants. Indeed, her loving, sunny spirit went out on all around her.

But her greatest joy was in her child. She would soothe him to sleep with the softest, sweetest notes, and after laying him in his cradle, she would kneel and gaze on his sleeping face for hours.

Mammy protested against this idolatry; but Drusilla answered her:

“It is not idolatry, nurse; because I do not place the gift before the Giver. There is not an instant in my life that I am not conscious of fervent gratitude to the Lord for giving me this child, a gift forever and ever; a gift for time and eternity; oh, nurse, a gift, of which nothing on earth or in Heaven can deprive me!”

“Don’t say that, ma’am; the Lord might take the child,” said mammy, solemnly.

“I know that, nurse. The Lord might take him to Heaven, to save him from the evil in this world; but he would be safe there, for the Lord would take care of him for me, and give him back to me when I myself should reach the Blessed Land,” she answered, reverently.

And mammy had nothing more to say.

How closely the young mother watched the tiny growth of her child, and the faint development of his intelligence. She could see progress where no one else could perceive the slightest sign of it. She discovered that “he” “took notice,” long before any one could be brought to acknowledge that such a prodigy was possible. Her delight when her boy first smiled in his sleep, or when she fancied he did, was something almost ludicrous. She was kneeling by his cradle, watching his slumbers as usual, when she suddenly cried out, though in a hushed voice:

“Oh, Anna! Cousin Anna! look! look! he is laughing, he is indeed! See how he is laughing!”

Miss Lyon came and bent over the cradle. So did mammy, who drew back again, saying:

“Lor! why that ain’t no laugh, ma’am; that’s wind—leastways, it is a grimace caused by wind on the stomach, and I must give him some catnip when he wakes.”

Now, if Drusilla’s sweet face had been capable of expressing withering contempt mammy would have been shrivelled up to a mummy: but as it was she could only appeal from the nurse to Miss Lyon.

“Anna, look at him—he is laughing, or, at the very least, smiling—is he not?”

“Yes, my darling, he is certainly smiling; and you know the old folks say when an infant smiles in its sleep it dreams of Heaven and sees angels.”

“And I do believe that is true—it must be true! And my little cherub sees his guardian angels!” exclaimed Drusilla, delightedly.

“I tell you, ma’am,” began mammy, “it is nothing but jest win—Owtch!” she exclaimed, suddenly breaking off as Anna trod heavily upon her corns.

And presently mammy limped off to make the threatened catnip tea, leaving the two young women to the enjoyment of their faith in the sleeping baby’s Heavenly visions.

For the first weeks infants’ eyes are of no particular form, color or expression, but merely little liquid orbs folded up in fat. But very soon Drusilla made very great discoveries in her infant’s eyes. Sitting alone one morning, and gazing down upon the babe that lay smiling on her lap, she murmured:

“Oh, Alick, Alick, dear, you have torn yourself away from me, and have gone. But you could not deprive me of your eyes, my Alick! They look up at me from my baby’s face, and while they do so I can never cease to love you and pray for you, Alick, my Alick!”

Since his desertion this was the only occasion upon which she had ever breathed his name, and even now it was only in half audible murmurs as she talked to herself, or to her babe.

By the other members of the family, Alexander’s name was never mentioned. General Lyon had given no orders to this effect, but the subject was tacitly dropped by all as one unspeakably painful and humiliating.

General Lyon, who loved the delicate, dove-eyed little woman with a fatherly fondness, would not let her confine herself to her own apartments a day longer than was necessary. He first of all wiled her down to the afternoon tea, and then after a few days coaxed her down to dinner; and on the Sunday following sent for her to join the family circle at breakfast.

The “family circle” at this time comprised only General Lyon, Anna, Dick, and Drusilla.

Dick had remained at Old Lyon Hall ever since Alexander’s exodus, with the exception of one day when he rode over to Hammondville, where he had left the parson and the lawyer to tell them that their services would not be required, and to remunerate and dismiss them.

Since that day Dick had made a clean breast of it to his uncle and had won a conditional consent to his marriage with Anna; the engagement being encumbered with a probation of one year.

“I shall be an old maid yet if I live long enough,” said Anna, laughing when she heard from Dick of this decision. “My marriage day has been fixed and my marriage interrupted three times! and at every interruption it has been deferred for one year, only to be interrupted again at the end of it.”

“I don’t complain of all other interruptions, but Anna, let us make sure of a marriage this time by going off by ourselves and getting it done,” said Anna’s lover.

“For shame, Dick,” was all the answer she vouchsafed him.

“We are of age,” urged her suitor.

“So much the worse, sir, for we should know better,” said Anna.

And Dick ceased to push the question.

It drew near the Christmas holidays, and the weather was very fine for the season.

General Lyon invited and pressed his adopted niece to take drives in the picturesque vicinity of the hall.

But Drusilla answered that she wished her first going out should be to the house of God, in acknowledgment of His great mercy in preserving her and her child amid so many dangers, and raising up to them such dear friends.

And the conscientious old soldier could urge the matter no farther.

One Friday morning Anna and Drusilla were seated together as usual—the baby sleeping in the cradle between them—when Anna said:

“Drusilla, my dear, you are going to church next Sunday?”

“Yes, I am; Providence permitting, Anna.”

“Do you know it will be Christening Sunday?”

“No, I didn’t, Anna.”

“Well, it will be. Now wouldn’t you like to have your boy christened?”

“Oh, yes; indeed I should, bless him!”

“And I will be his godmother, and grandpa and Dick shall be his godfathers. You know, being a boy, he will require two godfathers and one godmother. If he were a girl, the matter would be reversed. Now what do you say, my dear?”

“I thank you very much, dear Anna, for your kindness in thinking of all this. And I shall be very grateful to you and dear uncle and cousin Dick for becoming sponsors for my darling boy,” said Drusilla, earnestly.

“And the christening is to go on?”

“Certainly, dear Anna, if you please.”

“What name will you give your child?”

“If dear uncle consents I should like to name my boy for him—‘Leonard.’”

“And not Alick?” inquired Anna.

It was the first time for weeks past that she had uttered his name; and she did it now in a sort of triumph in the thought that his discarded wife had ceased to care for him.

“And not Alick?” she repeated, seeing that Drusilla hesitated to answer.

“No, not Alick,” the young mother now replied, calmly and gravely.

“That is right; I am glad of it! Very glad of it!” exclaimed Anna, with such righteous indignation and exultation combined that the young wife looked at her in surprise and sorrow.

“I think you mistake me, dear cousin,” she said. “The only reason why I do not call my child after his father is this:—I have already one Alick, but one Alick and I can never have another. I cannot even bear that my child should have his name. I want but one Alick in the whole world.

“Goodness knows, I think one of that sort would be quite enough!” exclaimed Anna.

Drusilla looked at her in gentle reproach.

“Is it possible, child, that you still love that scamp?” scornfully demanded Miss Lyon.

“Oh, Anna dear, yes! He used to love me too; he was very kind to me, from the days when I was a poor little sickly, ignorant girl, till within a short time ago. Oh, Anna, shall the madness of a few months make me forget all the loving kindness of many long years? Never, Alick, dear, never,” she murmured, dropping her voice as in soliloquy; “I will still love you and pray for you and trust in you—for I know, Alick, dear—when you come to yourself you will come to me. I can wait for that time.”

Anna gazed on the inspired young face in amazement that gradually gave way to reverence, and even to awe.

“Drusilla,” she said, solemnly, “I retract all I ever said against Alexander, and I promise never to open my lips to his prejudice again.”

Drusilla looked up gratefully but—inquiringly.

“Your eyes thank me, but you wish to know why I say this. I will tell you: It is because you make me begin to believe in that man. Your faith in him affects me. There must be some great reserve of good somewhere latent and undeveloped in his nature, to have drawn forth such a faith as yours. But were he the greatest sinner that ever darkened the earth, such love as yours would make him sacred.”

CHAPTER II.
CALM DELIGHTS.

Now has descended a serener hour,

And with reviving fortunes.—Shelley.

The next morning Anna entered Drusilla’s room, followed by Matty, bearing a large work-basket filled with cambric white as snow, and lace as fine as cobweb.

“Set it down here at my feet, Matty, and go,” said Miss Lyon, sinking into one of the arm-chairs.

Opposite to her sat Drusilla, and between them, of course, lay the sleeping babe in the cradle.

“Here, my dear,” said Anna, calling the young mother’s attention to the contents of the basket, “I have overhauled all my bureaus and boxes in search of these materials; for you know if our baby is to be christened on Sunday next he must have a fine robe, and you and I must set to work immediately to make it.”

“Oh, thanks, dear Anna, for your constant thoughtfulness of me and my babe. I have some very beautifully embroidered robes at Cedarwood, but nurse did not think it necessary to bring them, and I have none here but very plain white slips,” said Drusilla, gratefully.

“Well, now get your scissors ready, for I know nothing about cutting out a baby’s robe, so you will have to do that part of the work, but I will seam and tuck and gather and trim with anybody,” said Anna, beginning to unroll the snowy cambric.

And Drusilla’s nimble fingers soon shaped out the little dress, and the two young women set to work on it with as much delight as ever two little girls took in dressing a doll.

When they had settled the style of the trimming to their mutual satisfaction, and had then worked in silence for some time, Drusilla looked up and said:

“I wonder if dear General Lyon will like to have me name my poor discarded little baby after him?”

“Of course he will. It will be a compliment paid to him—though a well-merited one to him,” replied Anna.

“No, dear, it will not be a compliment paid to him, but a favor asked by me, and my heart misgives me that possibly he may not like it.”

“Foolish little heart, to have such misgivings! Why don’t you set the doubt at rest by asking him and finding out what he will answer?”

“No, no, Anna, I cannot do that, because he is so kind that he would be sure to give me a prompt and cheerful consent, no matter how much secret reluctance he might have to the measure.”

“Then if you never propose the matter to him, I don’t see how you will accomplish your purpose.”

“By your means, dear Anna, I hope to do so.”

“How by my means, you absurd little thing?”

“I want you to find out in some other delicate way than by direct questioning whether my wish would be agreeable to General Lyon.”

“I will try; but I warn you, I am a very bad diplomat.”

Whether Miss Lyon was really a bad diplomat or not, she did not seem to think it at all necessary to sound the General on the subject in the manner Drusilla desired; but as she sat with her grandfather in the drawing-room that night, she suddenly said:

“We are going to have our baby christened next Sunday, grandpa, and his mother wants to name him after you.”

“Does she, indeed, the dear child? I had not expected such a thing,” exclaimed the old man.

“That is, if you have no objection, sir.”

“Objection! why I am delighted!”

“I am glad you like the plan.”

“Like it? why I have never in my life been more pleased or more surprised! I shall make Master Leonard Lyon a very handsome christening present!”

“That’s a darling grandpa! But listen. Don’t say a word to Drusilla about the present, beforehand. She is no more mercenary for her child than she is for herself, and she is the most sensitive person I ever met with in my life.”

“All right, Anna! I shall say nothing of the present. But you, my little housekeeper, you must see that a proper christening feast is prepared to do honor to our boy.”

“You may safely leave that to me, sir.”

The next morning was cold, dark and stormy.

Drusilla was forbidden by her nurse to go down-stairs, and so she had her breakfast up in her own room.

When the service was cleared away, and she was seated before the fire, with the babe in her arms, General Lyon entered the room.

She arose with a countenance beaming with welcome, and was about to lay her babe down, that she might set a chair for her visitor, when he pleasantly signed to her to resume her seat, and he brought one to the fire for himself.

“Anna tells me, my dear, that you design me the honor of naming your fine boy after me,” he said, seating himself.

“If you will please to permit me to do so, sir, the honor will be mine, and will make me happy,” said Drusilla, blushing deeply.

“My child, I cannot express how much I thank you! how gratified and pleased I feel.”

Drusilla looked down, quite overpowered by the fervency of these acknowledgments, on the part of the old hero.

“You must know, my dear,” he continued, “I have always secretly longed for another Leonard Lyon to represent me, when I shall be gone; but scarcely had a hope to see one during my life. Leonard Lyon is a very ancient family name with us, and has been kept up in every generation, except the last. It failed there, because I had never been blessed with a son; and my brother had but one, and he was named after the family of his mother, who was a Miss Alexander. Thus, you see, the ancient name, Leonard Lyon, would have become extinct in me, had you not determined to revive and perpetuate it in your son. Heaven bless you for the kind thought, my dear, for it has made me very happy,” said the old gentleman, earnestly.

“I fervently thank Heaven, sir, for giving me the power of pleasing you in this matter,” murmured the blushing young mother, in a low and tremulous voice.

“And this I will say, my child, that the name your boy will bear, has never, in the thousand years of its existence, been sullied by a shadow of dishonor.”

“I know it has been borne by heroes and sages, and by none others. I hope and pray that my boy will prove worthy of his noble ancestry,” fervently breathed Drusilla.

“That I feel sure, he will! If Heaven should grant me a few more years of life, I shall take great delight in watching the growth of little Leonard Lyon,” replied the old gentleman, as he arose, and kissed the mother and the babe, and left the room.

The following Sunday proved to be a very fine day. At an early hour, the capacious family carriage of General Lyon was at the door, well warmed and aired for the reception of the delicate mother and the tender infant.

Not even on her first bridal day, had Drusilla looked so lovely as she did now, when she came down-stairs, dressed for church, her delicate, pale beauty, still more tenderly softened by her simple bonnet of white velvet, and wrappings of white furs.

She was attended by mammy, dressed in her Sunday’s best, and carrying the baby, richly arrayed in his christening robes.

General Lyon, Anna, Drusilla, the nurse and the baby rode in the carriage.

Dick Hammond, on horseback, escorted them.

The parish church was at Saulsburg, six, eight, or ten miles off, according to conflicting statements. So, early as they set out, they were not likely to be much too early to join in the commencement of the service.

When they reached the turnpike gate, they found old Andy on duty.

Seeing Dick cantering on in advance of the approaching carriage, he placed himself behind the gate, and lifted up both his arms, while he called aloud to his wife:

“Jenny, woman! come out wi’ ye, and tak the toll, whiles I stand here to keep yon daft laddie frae louping o’er the bar again!”

In answer to the summons, Jenny appeared just in time to receive Mr. Hammond, who quietly drew rein before the door, paid for himself, and the carriage behind him, and then with a bow, rode on his way.

The carriage followed; but as it passed, Mrs. Birney got a glimpse of the passengers inside and after doing so, she dropped her chin, and lifted her eyebrows, and remained transfixed and staring, like one demented.

“Eh, woman! what’s come o’er ye? Are ye bewitched?” questioned Mr. Birney, as he passed her, in going into the house.

“Na, gudeman, I’m no bewitched; but just amazed like! Didna ye see yon bonny leddy lying back among the cushions? She that was all happed about wi’ braw white velvets and furs?”

“Aweel, and what of her?”

“Hech, gudeman, she’s na ither than the puir bit lassie that came ben to us that night o’ the grand storm.”

“Hout, woman! hauld your tongue! no’ to ken the differ between a born leddy like this are, and a young gilpey like yon!”

“I ken weel the differ between a leddy and a gilpey. And I dinna need dress to instruct me in it, either, gudeman. I kenned the lass was na gilpey when I saw her in her auld gray cloak; and I kenned her again in the bit glint I had of her bonny face as she lay back in her braw velvets and furs, wi’ her wee bairn by her side. Eh! but I’d like to hear the rights iv that!”

“The rights o’ what, woman?”

“The grand wedding pit aff again; the fine bridegroom ganging aff in a jiffey; this young, bonny leddy and her bairn made so muckle iv by the whole family. But it’s na gude to speer questions. The minister will na speak; the doctor will na speak; the vera serving lads and lasses will na speak, although on ordinary occasions they’re a’ unco fond o’ clackin their clavers. But we shall hear, gude man! we shall hear! Secrets like yon canna be kept, e’en gif they be stappit up in a bottle.”

“Gudewife, ye’ll do weel to gie your attention to your ain proper business and no meddle wi’ that whilk dinna concern you. The auld general pit us here to keep the gate, and no to speer questions into his preevate affairs. And though the situation is na sick a gude ane, it might be waur. Sae we’ll behoove to gie na offence wi’ meddling,” said Andy, as he sat down and opened his big Bible to read.

Meanwhile the Lyon family went on to church, which they entered just as the organ had ceased playing and the minister was opening his book.

It was not until after the last lesson of the morning service was over that the announcement was made:

“All persons having children present for baptism will now bring them forward.”

Our whole party left their pew and proceeded to the front.

General Lyon, as senior sponsor, took the babe in his arms and presented him to the minister. Dick as junior sponsor stood by.

Anna was sole godmother.

And amid the customary prayers, promises, and benedictions, the child received the time-honored name of Leonard Lyon.

On their way home, the whole party congratulated each other with much affection and cheerfulness.

But withal, Dick, riding along slowly by the side of the carriage, was visited with some very serious reflections. He felt the great moral and religious responsibility of the office he had undertaken. And thus he communed with himself:

“General Lyon is aged and cannot be expected to live very much longer. Anna is a woman. On me must devolve the duty of looking after that boy. Good Heavens. However did they come to think of making such a good for nothing dog as I am godfather to that innocent baby? It is enough to make my hair stand on end to think of it. The fact is, I must strike a light and look about myself. I must, I positively must and will, thoroughly mend my ways and reform my life! not only for Anna’s sake—who knows me already, and takes me for better for worse with her eyes wide open—but for this innocent babe’s sake, upon whom, without his knowledge or consent, they have thrust me for a godfather! No more gambling, no more drinking, no more carousing with scamps, and squandering of money, Dick, my boy! Remember that you are godfather to Master Leonard Lyon, and responsible for his moral and religious education. And you must be equal to the occasion and true to the trust.”

So profound were Dick’s cogitations that he found himself at Old Lyon Hall before he was conscious of the fact.

He sprang from his horse in time to assist the old gentleman and the young ladies to alight.

And they all entered the house, where Drusilla was greeted by a pleasant surprise.

CHAPTER III.
SURPRISES.

Were her eyes open? Yes, and her mouth, too;

Surprise has this effect to make one dumb,

Yet leave the gate which eloquence slips through

As wide as if a long speech were to come.—Byron.

The family party first separated to go to their several chambers to lay aside their outside wrappings and to prepare for their early Sunday dinner.

Then they met in the drawing-room.

Drusilla, who had more to do than the others, was the latest to join them.

Her baby, that had slept soundly during the long ride from church, was now awake and required attention.

While she was engaged in her sweet maternal duties, she received a message from General Lyon requesting that his godson might be brought down into the drawing-room before dinner.

So as soon as the young mother had made herself and her child presentable, she went down-stairs, followed by the nurse carrying the babe.

On the threshold of the room she paused in pleased surprise, and not so much at the value of the presents displayed before her, as at the new instance of kindness on the part of her friends.

On a round table covered with a fine crimson cloth were laid the christening offerings, of great splendor for their kind.

There was a richly chased silver casket filled with gold coins from General Lyon. There was a baby’s silver gilt service—consisting of waiter, pap bowl, water jug, and drinking mug, cream pot, sugar basin, sugar tongs and spoons—from Dick. And there was a coral and bells of the finest coral, purest gold, and most superb workmanship, from Anna.

“Dear uncle! dear Anna and Dick, how kind, oh how kind, you all are to me and my boy! I cannot tell you how much I feel your kindness. I am very grateful; and I hope, oh, I hope, my dear little Leonard will live to thank you!” fervently exclaimed Drusilla, pressing the hand of her aged benefactor to her heart, and lifting her eyes full of loving gratitude to her young friends, who stood side by side enjoying her delight.

“My dear, it gives us as much pleasure to offer you these little tokens of our affection as it can possibly give you to receive them,” answered General Lyon, drawing her towards him and touching her forehead with his lips.

“It does indeed, sweet cousin,” added Dick.

And Anna, for her answer, silently kissed the young mother.

“And now to dinner, which has been announced for twenty minutes,” smiled the old gentleman, drawing Drusilla’s arm within his own and leading the way to the dining-room, where a feast of unusual elegance was laid in honor of the occasion.

The day closed in serene enjoyment.

When Drusilla retired to her room that evening, she found that the christening presents had been transferred from the round table in the drawing-room to an elegant little cabinet that had been purchased to receive them, and placed in the nursery.

Before she went to bed she knelt down and thanked Heaven for the mercies that now blessed her life.

As her head rested on her pillow, with the face of the sleeping babe near her, softly seen by the subdued light of the shaded lamp, she wondered at the peace that had descended upon her troubled spirit and made her calmly happy.

Had she then ceased to love her faithless husband?

Ah, no! for pure love like hers is of immortal life and cannot die. But she had ceased to sorrow for him, for sorrow is of mortal birth and cannot live forever.

She felt safe under the fatherly care of the fine old head of the family, cheerful in the company of her affectionate young friends Dick and Anna, and happy—oh, deeply, unutterably happy!—in the possession of her beautiful boy. She felt no trouble.

“Baby fingers, waxen touches pressed it from the mother’s breast.”

She never heard from Alick; but then, as she did not expect to hear from him, she was not disappointed.

She never heard from Cedarwood either; but then as she had left directions with the servants only to have letters written to her in case of necessity, she felt that, in this instance, “no news is good news.”

Mammy was growing rather restive and desirous of returning to her home, but Drusilla besought her to remain a little longer at Old Lyon Hall.

“Wait,” she said, “until the next spell of fine weather, when baby will be able to travel, and I too will return to Cedarwood. I must not stay away from the home provided for me by my husband, nor yet tax the hospitality of my dear friends longer.”

Mammy looked puzzled, for though the faithful old household servants had carefully forborne to speak of unpleasant family affairs in the presence of the nurse, whom they looked upon as a stranger and an alien, still she had heard enough to give her the impression that young Mr. Lyon had abandoned his wife. Therefore Mammy was rather bewildered by this talk of returning to Cedarwood.

“I do not think as the General and the young people will consent to part with you, ma’am; and indeed I think it will a’most break all their hearts to lose little Master Leonard,” said the nurse.

“I know they will not like it, because they are so kind to us—so very kind, and therefore I have shrunk from mentioning it to them; but my duty is clear—I must go to my own home and I must advise them of my purpose without delay.”

“Well, ma’am, certingly, if they wants your company ever so, they ain’t got no power to keep you ag’in’ your will; and so, ma’am, if you is set to go home first fine spell arter Christmas, I reckon as I can wait and see you safe through,” said the nurse, graciously.

“Thank you; it will be a great favor,” replied Drusilla.

The time was drawing near to the Christmas holidays—a season always hitherto observed by the Lyons with great festivity—when they had been unbounded in their hospitality and munificent in their presents.

On this occasion, some five or six days before Christmas, General Lyon sent Dick to Richmond, armed with a handful of blank checks signed and left to be filled up at pleasure, and commissioned to purchase the most elegant and appropriate holiday gifts that he could find for every member of the family and every household servant; but above all, to get a handsome perambulator, a crib bedstead, and—a hobby horse for Master Leonard.

“Good gracious me, grandpa!” had been Anna’s exclamation on hearing of this last item, “what on earth do you think a baby of a few weeks old can do with a hobby horse?”

“I don’t know, my dear, but I wish to give it to him.”

“He won’t be able to sit on it for three years to come.”

“And I may not live to see that time, my dear, and as I wish to give it to him I must do so now. It can be kept for him, you know. And now, while we are on the subject, I wish to ask you to have one of the many rooms in this house fitted up as a play-room for him. Let it be as near the nursery as possible; and whatever childish treasures I may purchase may be put there and kept until he is old enough to enjoy them.”

This conversation had taken place in the presence of Drusilla; but as no part of it had been addressed to her, she only expressed her gratitude for the intended kindness by glancing thankfully from one speaker to the other.

But she felt more strongly than ever that, however reluctant she might be to announce her intended departure from such kind friends, it was incumbent upon her to do so before they should make any material change in their household arrangements for her sake.

So after a little hesitation she commenced:

“Dear friends, while ever I live in this world I shall remember your goodness to me, and with my last breath I shall pray Heaven to bless you for it. But——”

“We have pleased ourselves in this, my dear; so say nothing more about it,” smiled the old gentleman, laying his hand kindly on her head.

“Thanks—a thousand thanks, dear sir; but I feel that I must soon leave you——”

“Leave us!” echoed General Lyon, Anna and Dick all in a breath.

“It is time for me to return to my home,” she said, gently.

“Your home, Drusilla!” said General Lyon, in a grave and tender voice. “Poor child, where will you find so proper a home as this, where your relations with us give you the right to stay, and where our affection for you makes you more than welcome?”

“Nowhere, indeed, sir, but in the house provided for me, by—my husband,” answered Drusilla, breathing the last two words in a scarcely audible tone.

“Ah! he has come to his senses; he has written and entreated you to join him. For the sake of my faith in human nature I am glad that he has done so,” said the General.