"We all have our own ideas of happiness," said Mr. Draper; "but since it is your wish, Frances, I will close with your proposal, and secure to you twenty thousand dollars, which is a little more than I paid for Clyde Farm. Legal instruments shall be immediately drawn up; and to convince you that I wish for no control over that sum, I will have it put in trust." "Let the instrument be so worded," said Frances, "that it shall revert to our child at my death." "As you please," said Mr. Draper, coldly; "it is all the same to me." CHAPTER V.--CONCLUSION. From this time, Clyde Farm became wholly a place of business. No regard was now paid to the beauty of the place. Iron-manufactories, nail-manufactories, and saw-mills, were projected, and all was hurry and bustle. One more pang, however, remained for Frances. The sequestered nook she had selected, where her little Charlotte's remains were deposited,--that spot, so still, so tranquil, so shaded by trees, and so sheltered by valleys, so removed apparently from the tumult of business,--over that very spot, it was found necessary for the rail-road to pass! Strange as it may seem, the worldly father appeared to feel more deeply this innovation than the mother. Twice he repaired to the spot to give his directions for the removal of the remains, and twice an impetuous burst of sorrow drove him from it. "It is only a temporary resting-place, even for the body," said Frances; "the spirit is not there." She looked calmly on, and gave those directions for which the father was unable. Another winter was now advancing, and the house in the city was ready for occupancy. Mrs. Draper made her preparations to return, but they were often interrupted by a pain in her side. The cough had entirely changed its character; it was now deep and hollow. She certainly looked remarkably well; her complexion seemed to have recovered the delicacy and transparency of early youth, and her eyes their lustrous brightness. As for the color of her cheek, her husband sometimes playfully accused her of extracting rouge from her carnations. Charlotte spoke to him doubtingly of his wife's health, and Lucy said she "was afraid she would not stand the frosty nights when they came on." But Mr. Draper was sanguine that Clyde had been her restoration. When she arrived at the city, there were arrangements to be made, and new furniture to be procured. Her husband gave her full permission to do just as she pleased, only begged of her not to call upon him, for he had not one moment to spare. Frances exerted all her strength, but it became evident that she drooped. Her nights were restless; and though some thought it encouraging, that she coughed so much _stronger_, it was exhausting to her frame. Mr. Draper at length perceived that she had rather lost than gained; he went for her physician, and requested him to recommend quiet to her. "I think," said he, "she has over-fatigued herself."