They lingered long over that quiet, pleasant tea; and then, after she had rang for a servant, and had the table cleared, she went to the piano and sang and played to the old gentleman for an hour or more. She sang all her favorite comic songs, but carefully eschewed the sentimental ones; for she wished to raise his spirits and not to melt his heart. Towards the last of her singing he came and stood behind her; and although he did not know enough of the notes to turn the pages for her at the proper moment, he stood and beat time to the music and sometimes joined in the chorus. At last, when she thought he had had enough of it, she arose and closed the piano. Then, after an interval of a few minutes, she took her Bible and laid it on the table before him. He bowed his head, opened it and read a chapter aloud. And then they two joined in offering up their evening worship. “Well, my darling,” said General Lyon, as he arose to bid her good-night, “I have to thank you for much comfort. This first evening that I dreaded so much has passed off very pleasantly. God bless you, my child.” And so he withdrew from the room. Drusilla sat on for a little while gazing dreamily into the fire, and then she also retired to rest, drawing her sleeping infant to her bosom. Very early the next morning Drusilla arose, dressed and went down-stairs to make sure that one room at least of all that had been thrown into confusion by the wedding should now be in order for the General’s breakfast. She found that Leo had followed her directions, and the small breakfast parlor, that occupied an angle of the house and had windows opening to the east and south, was prepared for the morning meal. And the doors of all the disordered rooms were closed. She went out and gathered a bouquet of early spring flowers and put them in a vase and placed them on the breakfast table. And then she plucked a few young buds of mint and made an exquisite julep, and sent it up by Leo to her uncle’s room. Jacob, who had been sent at sunrise to the post-office, now returned. And Drusilla opened the mail-bag, which was found to contain nothing but newspapers, which she folded and laid by the side of her uncle’s plate. And then she sat down to await his coming. He came at last, smiling on her as he entered, and took his seat at the table. “You are the angel of the house, my child,” he said—“the angel of the house! What should I do now but for you!” “Dear uncle, what should _I_ do without _you_? What should I have done that dreadful night but for your sustaining arm? All my puny efforts to serve you can never cancel that debt. I shall never forget that night,” earnestly answered Drusilla. “I shall never forget that night, Drusilla, for it was then I received—‘an angel unawares.’” She could not reply to these words, but blushed so intensely that the old man forbore farther praise, and merely saying: