htily, he attended his cousin from
the room. William Dulan arose and took his hat to go.

"Farewell, Mr. Dulan," said Alice, kindly, "if we should not meet
again before your departure."

"Farewell, sweet Alice," murmured William Dulan as he left the house.

* * * * *

It was a glorious Sabbath morning early in August. The widow's
cottage gleamed in the dark bosom of the wood like a gem in the
tresses of beauty. Everything wore its brightest aspect. The windows
of the little parlor were open, and the songs of birds and the perfume
of flowers were wafted through them. But the little breakfast-table,
with its snowy cloth and its one plate, cup and saucer, looked almost
piteous from its solitude. Upon the clean white coverlet of the bed
sat the widow's little black bonnet and shawl, prayer-book, and clean
pocket handkerchief, folded with its sprig of lavender. It was
Communion Sunday, and the widow would not miss going to church on any
account. She dispatched her breakfast quickly--poor thing! she had not
much appetite. She had sat up half the night previous, awaiting the
arrival of William, but he had not come; and a man from the village
had informed her that the mail-stage had arrived on the night previous
without any passengers. As the stage would not pass again for a week,
the widow could not expect to see or hear from her son for that length
of time. After putting away her breakfast things, she donned her
bonnet and shawl, and, taking her prayer-book, opened the door to go
out. What a pleasant sight met her eyes. A neat one-horse carriage, or
rather cart, stood at the door--her son was just alighting from it. In
another instant he had clasped his mother in his arms.

"Oh! my William! my William! I am so glad to see you," exclaimed the
delighted mother, bursting into tears. "Oh, but this is so joyful, so
unexpected, dear William! I looked for you, indeed, last night; but,
as you did not come, I gave you up, unwillingly enough, for a week.
But come in, darling; you've not breakfasted, I know."

"No, dear mother, because I wished to breakfast with you; but let me
give something to the horse, first, and you sit in the door, dear
mother--I do not want to lose sight of you a moment, while waiting on
Rosinante."

"Never mind, William, old Jake can do that. Here, Jake," said she, as
the old servant approached, "take charge of Master William's horse."
Then turning to William, she said: "Jo