The _Sprightly Jane_ was to make another voyage in March, and it was intended that George and his sister should sail on her; but she was delayed below Mount Vernon for two weeks, waiting for a wind. One morning late in March, George, looking out of the window on rising to see if there were any chance of getting off that day, felt a strong wind from the northwest; but as soon as his eyes fell on the river he saw a frigate at anchor that had evidently come in during the night. And while watching her he saw the captain’s gig shove off with two figures in it that wonderfully resembled his brother Laurence and his faithful Peter. George jumped into his clothes, and ran down-stairs and to the shore to make certain, and there in the boat, half supported by his servant, lay Laurence, pale and ill beyond description, but with a happy light in his weary, suffering eyes. In a few minutes Mrs. Washington came flying down, and, with clasped hands and tears streaming down her cheeks, awaited her husband on the end of the little wharf. The negroes flocked after her, and shouts and cries resounded of, “Howdy, Marse Laurence! Bless de Lord, you done come! Hi! yonder is dat ar’ Peter! Lordy, Peter!” This joyous welcome, the presence of faces dear and familiar, the sight of home, was almost too much happiness for the poor invalid. George literally carried Laurence in his strong young arms up to the house, while his wife clung to his hand, the old black mammy hung over him, blessing “de Lam’” for letting him return to them, and the negroes yah-yahed with delight. “I could not stay away any longer,” said Laurence, “and when the ship came to Bermuda, and the kind captain saw how hard it was for me to stay, to die among strangers, he invited me to return with him as his guest. I thought that you, Anne, and George might already have started for Bermuda; but, thanks to the good God, I find you here.” All those who loved Laurence Washington saw that day that his end was near, and within three months, with the calmness of the Christian soldier, he gave up his life. * * * * * One gloomy September day, just a year from the time he had set forth with his brother on that dreary voyage, George realized that, at last, he was master of Mount Vernon, and the realization was among the most painful moments of his life. He returned to the place from Belvoir, the home of his sister’s father, where he had left her. In vain he had pleaded with her to continue at Mount Vernon, for Laurence in his will had given it to her during her lifetime. But, gentle and submissive in all else, Anne Washington would not and could not return to the home of her brief married happiness and the spot connected with the long series of crushing griefs that had befallen her. To all of George’s pleadings she had answered: