ssed now
why he had ordered all the letters to be brought first to his
counting-house. "When do you think we shall see--Guy?"

At thought of that happy sight, her bravery broke down. She wept
heartily and long.

John sat still, leaning over the front of his desk. By his sigh, deep
and glad, one could tell what a load was lifted off the father's heart
at the prospect of his son's return.

"The liners are only a month in sailing; but this is a barque most
likely, which takes longer time. Love, show me the date of the boy's
letter."

She looked for it herself. It was in JANUARY!

The sudden fall from certainty to uncertainty--the wild clutch at that
which hardly seemed a real joy until seen fading down to a mere hope, a
chance, a possibility--who has not known all this?

I remember how we all stood, mute and panic-struck, in the dark little
counting-house. I remember seeing Louise, with her children in the
door-way, trying to hush their laughing, and whispering to them
something about "poor Uncle Guy."

John was the first to grasp the unspoken dread, and show that it was
less than at first appeared.

"We ought to have had this letter two months ago; this shows how often
delays occur--we ought not to be surprised or uneasy at anything. Guy
does not say when the ship was to sail--she may be on her voyage still.
If he had but given the name of her owners! But I can write to Lloyd's
and find out everything. Cheer up, mother. Please God, you shall have
that wandering, heedless boy of yours back before long."

He replaced the letters in their enclosure--held a general
consultation, into which he threw a passing gleam of faint gaiety, as
to whether being ours we had a right to burn them, or whether having
passed through the post-office they were not the writer's but the
owner's property, and Guy could claim them, with all their useless
news, on his arrival in England. This was finally decided, and the
mother, with faint smile, declared that nobody should touch them; she
would put them under lock and key "till Guy came home."

Then she took her husband's arm; and the rest of us followed them as
they walked slowly up the hill to Beechwood.

But after that day Mrs. Halifax's strength decayed. Not suddenly,
scarcely perceptibly; not with any outward complaint, except what she
jested over as "the natural weakness of old age;" but there was an
evident change. Week by week her long walks shortened; she gave up