Among the crowd who had arranged themselves in rows, to witness the departure of the court officials and the prisoner, were the two now inseparable friends, Mrs. Elwood and Fluella; who, on turning from the spectacle, had strolled, arm-in-arm, to a green, shaded grass-plot at the farther end of the tavern building, and were now, with pensive but interested looks, bending over the garden fence, and inspecting a small parterre of budding flowers, which female taste had, even in a place so lately redeemed from the forest as this, found means to introduce. They were lingering here, while others were departing, for the arrival of expected friends, though evidently not conscious of their very near approach. But even then, as they stood listlessly gazing over upon the mute objects of their interest, those friends were coming across the bridge, in the singularly contrasted forms of an aged man, walking without any staff, and with a firm elastic tread, and quite a youngerly one, walking _with_ a cane, and with careful steps and a restrained gait, betokening some lingering soreness of body or limb. On reaching the nearest part of the tavern-yard, the young man gazed eagerly round among the still numerous crowd, when, his eye falling on those of whom he seemed to be in search, he turned to his companion and said: “There they are, Chief. I will go forward and take them by surprise.” The next moment he was standing closely behind the unconscious objects of his attention; when, with a smiling lip but silent tongue, he gently laid a hand on a shoulder of each. “Claud!” burst from the lips of the surprised and reddening maiden, the first to turn to the welcome intruder. “Claud! Claud!” exclaimed the agitated matron, as she also turned, in grateful surprise, to greet, for the first time since his return, her heart’s idol. “My son! my son!” she continued, with gathering emotion, “are you indeed restored alive to my arms, and, but for you, my now doubly desolate home? Thank Heaven! O thank Heaven! for the happy, happy restoration!” “That is right, dear mother!” at length responded the visibly touched young man, gently disengaging himself from the long maternal embrace; “that is all right. But,” he added, turning to the maiden, whose sympathetic tears were coursing down her fair cheeks, “if you would thank any _earthly_ being for the preservation of my life, it should be this good and lovely girl at your side.” “I know it,” said the mother, after a thoughtful pause, “I know it; and, Claud, I would that she were _indeed_ my daughter.”