event of not seeing Mrs. Britton,
who was an invalid and retired at an early hour, Darrell and his father
would spend the night at the old homestead, but their presence would not
be known by the wife and mother until the following morning.

"You see, sir," Dr. Elliott remarked to Mr. Britton, "your coming has
complicated matters a little. I would not apprehend any danger from the
meeting between Mrs. Britton and her son, for she has looked for his
return every day; but I cannot say what might be the result of the shock
her nervous system would sustain in meeting you. We are safe, however,
in going out there this evening, for she always retires to her room
before this time."

Both Mr. Britton and Darrell grew silent as the old Jewett homestead
came in view. It was a wide-spreading house of colonial build, snowy
white with green shutters and overrun with climbing roses and
honeysuckle vines. It stood back at a little distance from the street,
and a broad walk, under interlacing boughs of oak, elm, and maple, led
from the street to the lofty pillared veranda across its front. The full
moon was rising opposite, its mellow light throwing every twig and
flower into bold relief. Two figures could be seen seated within the
veranda, and as the carriage stopped Dr. Elliott remarked,--

"I was right; Mr. Jewett and his elder daughter are sitting outside, but
Mrs. Britton has retired."

As the four men alighted and proceeded up the walk towards the house
strangely varied emotions surged through the breasts of Darrell and his
father. To one this was his childhood's home, the only home of which he
had any distinct memory; to the other it was the home to which long ago
he had been welcomed as a friend, but from which he had been banished as
a lover. But all reminiscent thoughts were suddenly put to flight.

They had advanced only about half-way up the walk when one of the long,
old-fashioned windows upon the veranda was hastily thrown open and a
slender figure robed in a white dressing-gown came with swift but
tremulous steps down the walk to meet them, crying, in glad accents,--

"Oh, my son! my son! you have come, as I knew you would some day!"

Darrell sprang forward and caught his mother in his arms, and then,
unable to speak, held her close to his breast, his tears falling on her
upturned face, while she caressed him and crooned fond words of
endearment as in the days when she had held him in her arms. Dr.
Elliott and his