mbled with
you, and can't go farther this evening."

"Hush! Your mother won't see him, child," whispered Mrs. Mountain.

"Not see George? Why, he is like a son of the house," cries Harry.

"She had best not see him. I don't meddle any more in family matters,
child; but when the Colonel's servant rode in, and said you were coming,
Madame Esmond left this room and said she felt she could not see Mr.
Washington. Will you go to her?" Harry took Mrs. Mountain's arm, and
excusing himself to the Colonel, to whom he said he would return in a few
minutes, he left the parlour in which they had assembled, and went to the
upper rooms, where Madame Esmond was.

He was hastening across the corridor, and, with an averted head, passing
by one especial door, which he did not like to look at, for it was that
of his brother's room; and as he came to it, Madame Esmond issued from
it, and folded him to her heart, and led him in. A settee was by the bed,
and a book of psalms lay on the coverlet. All the rest of the room was
exactly as George had left it.

"My poor child! How thin thou art grown--how haggard you look! Never
mind. A mother's care will make thee well again. 'Twas nobly done to go
and brave sickness and danger in search of your brother. Had others been
as faithful, he might be here now. Never mind, my Harry; our hero will
come back to us. I know he is not dead. He will come back to us, I know
he will come." And when Harry pressed her to give a reason for her
belief, she said she had seen her father two nights running in a dream,
and he had told her that her boy was a prisoner among the Indians.

Madame Esmond's grief had not prostrated her as Harry's had when first it
fell upon him; it had rather stirred and animated her; her eyes were
eager, her countenance angry and revengeful. The lad wondered almost at
the condition in which he found his mother.

But when he besought her to go downstairs, and give her a hand of welcome
to George Washington, who had accompanied him, the lady's excitement
painfully increased. She said she should shudder at touching his hand.
She declared Mr. Washington had taken her son from her; she could not
sleep under the same roof with him.

"No gentleman," cried Harry, warmly, "was ever refused shelter under my
grandfather's roof."

"Oh, no, gentlemen!" exclaims the little widow; "well let us go down, if
you like, son, and pay our respects to this one. Will you please to give
us your arm?" and