s running in a dream, and he had told her that her
boy was a prisoner among the Indians.

Madam 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 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.

"He gave me his bed when I was ill, mother; and if our George is alive,
how has George Washington a hand in his death? Ah! please God it be only
as you say," cried Harry, in bewilderment.

"If your brother returns, as return he will, it will not be through Mr.
Washington's help," said Madam Esmond. "He neither defended George on
the field, nor would he bring him out of it."

"But he tended me most kindly in my fever," interposed Harry. "He was
yet ill when he gave up his bed to me, and was thinking only of his
friend, when any other man would have thought only of himself."

"A friend! A pretty friend!" sneers the lady. "Of all his Excellency's
aides-de-camp, my gentleman is the only one who comes back unwounded.
The brave and noble fall, but he, to be sure, is unhurt. I confide
my boy to him, the pride of my life, whom he will defend with his,
forsooth! And he leaves my George in the forest, and brings me back
himself! Oh, a pretty welcome I must give him!"

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

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

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, madam," 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