The mother was at the door ere he had finished. Mr. Merritt was so stiffened and benumbed with cold that he descended from the wagon with difficulty to meet the warm embrace of his wife; but Emma sat still nor spoke. She was asleep. At this discovery, the excitement and alarm of the mechanic seemed to endow him with superhuman strength, and lifting her as if she had been an infant, he hurried into the house with his lifeless burden, and laid her upon a couch. With frantic energy they applied the restoratives at command—and they were blessed. Her eyes opened slowly, and she attempted to speak. “The crisis is past, and our Emma is preserved!” exclaimed Mrs. Merritt, clasping her hands together in joyful thanksgiving. Emma was soon entirely recovered, but the careful mother forbade exertion, and with her own hands prepared and brought a nice cordial to her daughter’s bed, under the soothing influence of which she ere long sunk into pleasant and refreshing slumbers. Mrs. Merritt, while supper progressed, was relating to the mechanic the anxiety she had felt for their safety when night came on, and he had not returned; and how George had suggested the thought of firing the gun, which had led to their preservation, when a loud knock was heard at the door. George opened it, and a stranger entered, muffled to the eyes in a capacious cloak, which was almost concealed by a covering of snow. “Can a traveler find shelter with you to-night?” asked the new comer, who appeared to be a young man. “God forbid that we should drive a human being from our roof on such a night as this,” said Mr. Merritt. “Sir, you are quite welcome to the best we have to offer.” The traveler expressed his thanks, and divested of his cloak, exposed the features of a handsome young man, of apparently not more than two-and-twenty years. A sudden exclamation burst simultaneously from the lips of Mr. and Mrs. Merritt. “William Warden!” It was he. “You recognize me, I see,” said Warden, “although three years have changed me somewhat;” and he continued, “will you, Mr. Merritt, for the moment, forget that I am the son of my father, and accord to me the welcome of a stranger?” The mechanic evidently struggled with bitter recollections, but subduing them, offered his hand calmly to Mr. Warden. “You are my guest, Mr. Warden,” said he, “and as such, are not the less entitled to my hospitality that you are the son of one who has done cruel wrong to me and mine.” “But not irretrievable wrong, thank Heaven!” replied young Warden. “The son shall expiate the crimes of the father. To-morrow, Mr. Merritt—to-morrow shall be the dawn of a happier day.”