“Oh, no, he has not yet written to me,” smiled Drusilla. “But you have heard from him?” “No, not since that night.” “Then what do you mean, my dear, by talking of the home he has provided for you?” “I mean the cottage to which he took me when we were first married—Cedarwood, near Washington.” “Where you suffered such cruel mental anguish as I should think would render the very thought of the place hateful to you, my poor child,” said General Lyon, compassionately. Drusilla gave him a pleading look that seemed to pray him to say nothing that might even by implication reproach her absent husband; and then she added: “There were other memories and associations connected with Cedarwood, dear sir. The first few weeks of my married life were very happy; and my housekeeping and gardening very cheerful and pleasant.” “But all that is changed. Why go back there now?” “Because it is my proper home.” “Yet—he—that man has not invited you to return?” “No, but then I left of my own accord, and now that I am able to travel, it is my duty to go back, though uninvited. I must not wait to be asked to return to my post,” said the young wife. The General was silent and thoughtful for a moment and then he said, firmly: “My child, you must think no more of this.” She looked at him; but hesitated to oppose him, and when she did answer she spoke gravely and gently: “Dear sir, it is _right_ for me to go.” “Drusilla, think no more of this, I say,” he repeated, and this time with an air of assured authority. “Dear uncle, why do you say so?” “I might answer, it would be too painful to me to part with you and your boy.” “Thanks for saying that, sir. I too, feel that to leave this safe, sweet old home, and these loving friends, will be very painful; duty often is so; but not for that must we fail in it.” “Drusilla! I repeat that you must not think of taking this step! Not only has your unworthy——” She looked at him so deprecatingly, that he broke off his speech and began anew. “Well, well, I will not wound you if I can help it, my dear!—I say, not only has your husband not _invited_ you to return to your home, but he has positively _forbidden_ you to do so. Do you remember, poor child, the terms he used in discarding you?” “Words spoken in the ‘short madness’ of anger. I do not wish to remember them, dear General Lyon,” she sweetly answered. “My child! do you know where to write to him?” “Oh no, sir.” “Do you think that he will write to you? or do you hope that he will join you at Cedarwood?” “Oh, no, dear uncle! at least, not for a long time. But I hope that he will feel some interest in his child, and he will inquire about it, and when he finds out what a beautiful boy it is, he will come to see it; and then, then—for the boy’s sake he will forgive the mother.” “Forgive! Heaven of Heavens, girl! what has he to forgive in you?” indignantly demanded Anna.