between us. Our talk was of a Saturday night....

I did not tell Theo, nor any relative of hers, what was being done.
But when the dear child faltered and talked, trembling, of the
coming departure, I bade her bear up, and vowed all would be well, so
confidently, that she, who ever has taken her alarms and joys from my
face (I wish, my dear, it were sometimes not so gloomy), could not but
feel confidence; and placed (with many fond words that need not here be
repeated) her entire trust in me--murmuring those sweet words of Ruth
that must have comforted myriads of tender hearts in my dearest maiden's
plight; that whither I would go she would go, and that my people should
be hers. At last, one day, the General's preparations being made, the
trunks encumbering the passages of the dear old Dean Street lodging,
which I shall love as long as I shall remember at all--one day, almost
the last of his stay, when the good man (his Excellency we called him
now) came home to his dinner--a comfortless meal enough it was in the
present condition of the family--he looked round the table at the place
where I had used to sit in happy old days, and sighed out: "I wish,
Molly, George was here."

"Do you, Martin?" says Aunt Lambert, flinging into his arms.

"Yes, I do; but I don't wish you to choke me, Molly," he says. "I love
him dearly. I may go away and never see him again, and take his foolish
little sweetheart along with me. I suppose you will write to each other,
children? I can't prevent that, you know; and until he changes his mind,
I suppose Miss Theo won't obey papa's orders, and get him out of her
foolish little head. Wilt thou, Theo?"

"No, dearest, dearest, best papa!"

"What! more embraces and kisses! What does all this mean?"

"It means that--that George is in the drawing-room," says mamma.

"Is he! My dearest boy!" cries the General. "Come to me--come in!" And
when I entered he held me to his heart, and kissed me.

I confess at this I was so overcome that I fell down on my knees before
the dear, good man, and sobbed on his own.

"God bless you, my dearest boy!" he mutters hurriedly. "Always loved you
as a son--haven't I, Molly? Broke my heart nearly when I quarrelled with
you about this little--What!--odds marrowbones!--all down on your knees!
Mrs. Lambert, pray what is the meaning of all this?"

"Dearest, dearest papa! I will go with you all the same!" whimpers one
of the kneeling party. "And I will wait--oh!--as