taking an arm which was very little able to give her
support, she walked down the broad stairs and into the apartment where
the Colonel sat.

She made him a ceremonious curtsey, and extended one of the little hands,
which she allowed for a moment to rest in his. "I wish that our meeting
had been happier, Colonel Washington," she said.

"You do not grieve more than I do that it is otherwise, Madame," said
the Colonel.

"I might have wished that the meeting had been spared, that I might not
have kept you from friends whom you are naturally anxious to see, that my
boy's indisposition had not detained you. Home and his good nurse
Mountain, and his mother and our good Dr. Dempster will soon restore him.
'Twas scarce necessary, Colonel, that you who have so many affairs on
your hands, military and domestic, should turn doctor too."

"Harry was ill and weak, and I thought it was my duty to ride by him,"
faltered the Colonel.

"You yourself, sir, have gone through the _fatigues_ and _dangers_ of the
campaign in the most wonderful manner," said the widow, curtseying again,
and looking at him with her impenetrable black eyes.

"I wish to Heaven, Madame, someone else had come back in my place!"

"Nay, sir, you have ties which must render your life more than ever
valuable and dear to you, and duties to which, I know, you must be
anxious to betake yourself. In our present deplorable state of doubt and
distress Castlewood can be a welcome place to no stranger, much less to
you, and so I know, sir, you will be for leaving us ere long. And you
will pardon me if the state of my own spirits obliges me for the most
part to keep my chamber. But my friends here will bear you company as
long as you favour us, whilst I nurse my poor Harry upstairs. Mountain!
you will have the cedar room on the ground floor ready for Mr. Washington
and anything in the house is at his command. Farewell, sir. Will you be
pleased to present my compliments to your mother, who will be thankful to
have her son safe and sound out of the war?--as also to my young friend,
Martha Custis, to whom and to whose children I wish every happiness.
Come, my son!" and with these words, and another freezing curtsey, the
pale little woman retreated, looking steadily at the Colonel, who stood
dumb on the floor.

Strong as Madame Esmond's belief appeared to be respecting her son's
safety, the house of Castlewood naturally remained sad and gloomy. To
look for George was hopi