David Cross listened to these suggestions of his father, outrageous as they were, with no little interest. He loved Hettie, or at least he thought he did; but brought up and educated as he had been, he could have no very correct idea of those pure and delicate feelings which constitute true love: he supposed that he could make her happy, and felt every disposition to do so. His interview with her the day before had not been as satisfactory as he had wished. He had never before doubted that she would willingly accept him, and had always looked upon her as appropriated to himself; to be thus disappointed, was not by any means grateful to his uncurbed will and unsubdued passions. It produced an unhappy effect upon his mind--a sort of determination to get her into his power; and he meant it in kindness too, for he was sure that he could make her happy. As his father, therefore, unfolded to him a way that his wish could be accomplished, he eagerly caught at it, and even then resolved that she should be his. The meeting between William Andrews and his mother was almost too much for the old lady; she ever had loved him dearly, even through all her harsh treatment of him. She had heard of his prosperity in his letters home; he had told her that he was doing well, and the supplies of money which he occasionally sent to her confirmed his statement. But she had not expected such a change in his appearance. His manners and style of dress, and the consideration which was paid to him, caused the old lady at times to feel almost sad as well as proud. William, however, was unchanged in his affection, and left nothing undone that could manifest to her his filial respect and love. The old house was refitted in the neatest manner, as she preferred living in that, she said, the rest of her days, to any new one that could be built. She would have been too happy, were it not that too many tokens of disease manifested themselves, for a mother's eye not to discern that there was a worm at the root of her gourd. The health of William was not benefited by his native air; the languor which oppressed him became more and more distressing, and the sunken cheek and the hectic flush gave sad notice to the hearts that loved him of his fatal malady. But his spirits retained their elasticity, and the hope of returning health seemed to grow stronger in his own breast, as it grew fainter in the hearts of his friends. He thought he should he better soon; and thus from day to day he went about among the neighbours who were now clustered in his native village, and rejoiced in the magic change which every where met his eye. What hours of delightful converse he enjoyed with those whose enterprise had given the first start to all these new and pleasant scenes, and by whose aid he himself had broken the chains of idleness and vice, and arisen to respectability and independence.