eath, and it seemed as if every
ordinary fountain of sorrow were dried up.

"Dear Bob, this is too much!" she said eagerly, though in husky tones.
"Here is my hand--nay, here are _both_. Mother must not think this
cruel charge is--_can_ be true."

The major arose, approached his sister, and impressed a kiss on her
cold cheek. Mrs. Willoughby smiled at these tokens of amity, and the
conversation continued in a less earnest manner.

"This is right, my children," said the single-hearted Mrs. Willoughby,
whose sensitive maternal love saw nothing but the dreaded consequences
of weakened domestic affections; "and I shall be all the happier for
having witnessed it. Young soldiers, Maud, who are sent early from
their homes, have too many inducements to forget them and those they
contain; and we women are so dependent on the love of our male friends,
that it is wisdom in _us_ to keep alive all the earlier ties as
long and as much as possible."

"I am sure, dearest mother," murmured Maud, though in a voice that was
scarcely audible, "_I_ shall be the last to wish to weaken this
family tie. No one can feel a warmer--more proper--a more _sisterly_
affection for Robert, than I do--he was always so kind to
me when a child--and so ready to assist me--and so manly--and so
everything that he ought to be--it is surprising you should have
fancied there was any coldness between us!"

Major Willoughby even bent forward to listen, so intense was his
curiosity to hear what Maud said; a circumstance which, had she seen
it, would probably have closed her lips. But her eyes were riveted on
the floor, her cheeks were bloodless, and her voice so low, that
nothing but the breathless stillness he observed, would have allowed
the young man to hear it, where he sat.

"You forget, mother"--rejoined the major, satisfied that the last
murmur had died on his ears--"that Maud will probably be transplanted
into another family, one of these days, where we, who know her so well,
and have reason to love her so much, can only foresee that she will
form new, and even stronger ties than any that accident may have formed
for her here."

"Never--never"--exclaimed Maud, fervently--"I can never love any as
well as I love those who are in this house."

The relief she wanted stopped her voice, and, bursting into tears, she
threw-herself into Mrs. Willoughby's arms, and sobbed like a child. The
mother now motioned to her son to quit the room, while she remaine