At eleven o’clock the visitors arose to take their leave, but of course did not do it immediately,—they stood and talked for half an hour longer. And, in that standing conference, it was arranged that General Lyon should see about getting suitable apartments at the Morley House for the Seymours; and, if none should now be vacant, that he should bespeak in advance the first that should be disengaged. It was farther agreed that the two parties of friends should join company in all sight-seeing excursions, and that they should always lunch together. And here a friendly quarrel, each old gentleman insisting upon being the permanent host of the lunch table. Finally the dispute ended in an amicable arrangement that General Lyon and Colonel Seymour should each be the host on alternate days. Then indeed the Seymours took leave and departed. And the Lyons went to rest. Drusilla entered her own bed-chamber. Little Lenny was asleep in his crib. Pina was nodding in her seat. Drusilla had neither the will nor the power to sleep. She threw herself in her resting-chair and gave her mind up to thought. She was glad to be alone. The day had been a very harassing one—at once exciting and depressing in its events and experiences. Yet all that had occurred to her sank into utter insignificance compared with the single incident of one instant—the cold stare with which her husband had met her eyes. More than all his double dealing with her; more than his long neglect of her at Cedarwood; more than his cruel repudiation of her on her wedding night; more than his two years of scornful abandonment—did this cold, hard, strange stare chill her love and darken her faith and depress her hopes. Drusilla’s sad reverie was interrupted by a gentle rap at her door. It had been probably repeated more than once before it broke into her abstraction. Now thinking it was the chambermaid coming on some errand connected with fresh water or clean towels, she was about to bid the rapper come in; but quickly reflecting that the hour was too late to expect a visit from the damsel in question, and feeling startled at the thought of an unknown visitor at midnight, she cautiously inquired: “Who is there?” “It is I, Drusa, dear. I know you are still up, for I see the light shining through your key-hole, and you never sleep with a light burning,” said the voice of Mrs. Hammond. “Come in, dear Anna,” said Drusilla, rising and opening the door. “Now, if you really prefer to be alone, tell me so, my dear, and I will not take it amiss, but leave you at once,” said Anna, hesitating, before she took the easy-chair offered her by Drusilla. “No; how could you think so? How could you think I could prefer my own company to yours? I know you came to cheer me up, and I feel how kind you are. Sit down, dear Anna.”