Of death! a dread pang seized her heart, and held her spell-bound in the doorway as she gazed on him. He had not heard her approach. He was not disturbed by the inflow of light. He remained, indeed, as still as death! She was afraid to stir, almost to breathe! She had heard of old men dying just so! Oh, had not his own brother, his _youngest_ brother, died that way not three years since?—died sitting in his chair by his Christmas fire, surrounded by his whole family and friends? died with nothing on earth to provoke death? died from no excitement, no grief, no disease apparently? And here was the elder brother, a man of like constitution, who had been severely tried this day by the parting from his beloved and only surviving child, and now had come away to this chill, dark room, and had sat in solitude for an hour or more! Drusilla’s conscience smote her terribly for what she called the false and fatal delicacy that had prevented her from following him immediately to his retreat. Oh! if he should be dead, dead alone in this bleak room, she would never forgive herself, though she had done all for the best. All these thoughts and feelings flashed like lightning through her brain and heart in the moment that she stood panic-stricken in the door. Then full of awe, scarcely breathing, she crept near him, laid her hand upon his shoulder, and murmured softly: “Uncle.” “My darling,” responded the old man, looking up with a smile. “Thank Heaven!” fervently aspirated Drusilla. “What is the matter, my darling? What troubles you?” gently questioned the old gentleman, perceiving her alarm. “I—I found you sitting here in the cold and dark, and I feared that something ailed you. Nothing does?” “Nothing, my child, except a little natural but unwise regret. Certainly, she had to marry. It is a woman’s destiny. And it is so well that in marrying she will not have to leave me. Still, still I feel it, darling. She was all I had left in the world.” “She will be back in three weeks, dear uncle; back so soon that we shall scarcely have time to get the house set in order again for her reception. And now will you look at little Lenny? He has come to bid you good-night, and to ask you to come and take tea with his mamma,” said Drusilla, seating the boy on the old man’s knee. By no manner of baby-babble could little Leonard possibly bid his godfather good-night, or invite him to tea; but he _would_ put his little arms around the veteran’s neck, and press his lips to the veteran’s mouth, and laugh, and own his love and joy.