Johnny. All Windsor
mourned for the beautiful child and the desolate mother. Even Mrs.
Carlton Sharp came, Mr. Rush being gone, and mingled her tears with the
bereaved. And Althea was not ungrateful. She turned not away from all
expressions of sympathy, as it pleases some to do. She knew that only
kindness was intended, and to her wounded, but still loving heart,
gentle words and deeds were as balm that is healing.

After the first few days, however, Althea was left more alone. The women
of Windsor mostly did their own household labor, and the busy season of
the year compelled them to remain at home. Althea could fix her mind
only upon her lost darling. She collected his playthings, soiled,
broken, and all. She gathered flowers to fling above the brown earth
that hid him from her view. She wrote heart-broken verses in his memory,
and many more she poured forth in unwritten music to the winds.

There was a certain comfort in thus being able to abandon herself to
grief and lamentation. But how would it be when her husband returned
home? What would he say to the death of his son? As was usual, would he
blame her also for this catastrophe? Or, would this affliction soften
his heart, rendering him more kind in his intercourse with herself?
Althea was revolving this in her mind, in a measure temporarily diverted
from her grief. She was sitting upon the verandah, amongst her flowers,
herself the sweetest of them all. A quick step upon the path startled
her. She arose hastily, and glanced through the vines.

A stranger that moment caught sight of her, and came around to where she
stood.

For an instant, he remained regarding her; then he clasped her right
hand in both of his, and pressed it softly to his lips.

Althea, taken by surprise, was about to resent such a liberty, when the
stranger said:

"I am your cousin, Althea, you must have heard of Hubert Lisle?"

It was indeed, Hubert, just over from a six years' residence abroad. Had
he been Althea's own brother, she would not have welcomed him with more
profuse demonstrations of delight.

"I learned at the hotel of your great affliction, which must be doubly
painful, your husband being absent." Hubert glanced searchingly at his
cousin's face. He had vivid remembrances of Thornton Rush, and held the
conviction, that however much he might have changed for the better, he
could be still anything but an agreeable life-companion. He discovered
nothing by his searching glanc