e sent home, and Mrs. Wayland and the child went with them. She knew
the whole of the story we have related; and, in his last illness, Mr.
Medway had impressed upon her mind, in the strongest manner, the
necessity of entire secrecy in regard to his daughter's marriage and the
paternity of the child. If Edward chose to acknowledge it, he would do
so in due time.

Mrs. Wayland had no relations to trouble themselves about her affairs;
and when she appeared in Camden, which had been the residence of her
husband, no one thought of asking whether or not the child was her own.
She volunteered no information on this subject; and, recovering the
money which her husband had sent home, she was comfortably situated for
the present. She found a good boarding-place, and devoted herself wholly
to the little one, who already occupied a large place in her affections.

Edward Montague went to New Orleans, and when he presented himself
before his college friend, he looked like another man, so severe had
been the workings of his grief upon him. Tom Barkesdale pressed his hand
in silence, for he had already been informed by letter of the sad event
of the last month.

"It is all over with me now, Tom," said he, gloomily, as the tears
gathered in his hollow eyes.

"Don't take it so hardly, Ned. Time softens the severest trials."

"Not mine. I am ready to die myself now."

"No you are not. Don't give up the battle so. Be a man."

"I can be nothing now. I shall go home, and let my life ebb out with my
sorrows."

"Don't go home as you are now. You will only make your father miserable.
You have no right to do that."

"I must tell him all."

"Don't do it, Ned."

"Why not?"

"It will only vex and torment your governor to no purpose. He is an old
man, and cannot live many years more. Don't disturb him with the
reflection that you have disobeyed him."

"But my child!"

"Keep the child in the shade for a few years," said Tom; and Edward
fully understood him. "One of these days you can acknowledge it, and all
will be well. Out of regard to your father's happiness you ought to keep
still."

"As my wife is dead now, I hope he will forgive me."

"Perhaps he would, perhaps not. What is the use of stirring up the
waters and making a storm, when everything is quiet now?"

"But my father cannot help seeing that something has happened to me. I
can never be as I was before."

"Wait and see," replied the more philosophic young man.

A l