“There, where with living ear and eye She heard Potomac’s flowing, And through her tall, ancestral trees Saw Autumn’s sunset glowing, She sleeps, still looking to the West, Beneath the dark wood shadow, As if she still would see the sun Sink down on wave and meadow.” CHAPTER X. THE ORPHAN BRIDE. “Come, Margaret, come, my child, it is time to go home,” said Mrs. Houston, gently trying to raise the orphan from her kneeling posture by the grave--“come, dear Margaret.” “Oh, I cannot! Oh, I cannot! Not yet! Not so soon!” “My love, the boat is waiting and the rest of our friends are gone.” “Oh, I cannot go so soon! I cannot hurry away and leave her here alone.” “But, Margaret, it is late, and we have far to go.” “Go then, dear Mrs. Houston, and leave me here with her. I cannot forsake her so soon. Dr. Hartley will let me stay at his house a few days to be near her, I know.” “As long as you like, my dearest child! as if it were your own house--as it is--and as if you were my own child,” said the kind-hearted physician, laying his hand as in benediction upon the bowed head of the kneeling girl. “But, my child, think of Ralph! You have not spoken of him since--since your hands were united. Consider now a little the feeling of Ralph, who loves you so entirely,” whispered Mrs. Houston, stooping and caressing her, and thinking that all good purposes must be served in drawing the orphan girl from the last sleeping place of her mother. “Oh, I cannot! I cannot! I cannot think of any living! I can think only of her! of her! my mother! Oh, my mother!” “What! not think of Ralph, who loves you so devotedly?” “Not now! Oh, I cannot now! I should be most unworthy of any love if I could turn from her grave, so soon, to meet it! Mr. Houston knows that,” she passionately cried. “I do, my Margaret! I feel and understand it all. I would not seek to draw you from this place; but I would remain and mourn with you,” said Ralph Houston, in a low and reverential tone, but not so low that the good doctor did not overhear it, for he hastened to urge: “Remain with her, then, Mr. Houston! there is no reason why you should not, and every reason why you should.” And so said Mrs. Houston, and so said all friends. “But what says my Margaret?” inquired Ralph Houston, stooping and speaking gently. “No, Mr. Houston, do not stay, please; leave me here alone with her--let her have me all to herself, for a little while,” whispered Margaret. And Ralph arose up, thanked Dr. Hartley, and declined his hospitality. “Good-by, then, dear Margaret! I shall come to you in a day or two.” “Good-by, Mrs. Houston.” “But you must not call me Mrs. Houston now, my child. You must call me mother. I have no other daughter, and you have no other mother now. Besides, you are my daughter-in-law, you know. So you must call me mother. Say--will you not?”