“Do you really think so, Virginia? You are such a comfort! You will have Stephen write me, I shall get so much happiness from his dear little scrawls!” By this time she was dressed for her journey; and Virginia and Jane were busy with her trunks. Anna sat and watched them, slowly drawing on her gloves, and occasionally favouring them with suggestions and advice. She had already recovered much of her cheerfulness; and it was plain that the proper packing of those trunks was now the matter that rested heaviest on her mind. Down stairs in the library, Benson and Dr. Stillman, and Dr. Stillman's brother sat stiffly in their chairs and watched the gilt hands of the big marble clock on the mantle-piece. Benson, erect and uncomfortable, and monosyllabic as to speech, was finding Mr. Stillman fussy and objectionable; and he had all along considered the doctor generally offencive; furthermore he thought the whole affair scandalous and wholly without justification. But he resented it most on Virginia's account; she would have to take up the burden of Anna's neglected duties in the case of little Stephen; and she already had Jane and Jane's baby on her hands; cares of his providing, that were now a misery to him to think of. Presently Sam West drove up from the barn and hitched his team. The three men heard him open the front door and mount the stairs. He had gone for Anna's trunks. Benson heaved a sigh of relief and quitted his chair with alacrity: the doctor and his brother rose, too. “Can I offer you a seat with us into town?” asked the former, civilly turning to Benson. “No, I thank you, I have my own horse and cart here.” The doctor extended his hand. “Good-bye, sir,” he said coldly, and Benson touched the tips of the three nerveless fingers he had given him. “Good-bye,” said the lawyer. “You will drive in with us, Andrew?” and the doctor turned to his brother. “Yes, indeed, my dear John; I must see the last of you and Anna,” and he patted the missionary affectionately on the arm, who now turned from him abruptly and moved toward the door opening into the hall. On the stairs above, Anna, and Virginia, and Jane appeared. Anna was smiling radiantly, though there were still traces of tears on her cheeks, for she had just parted from little Stephen. Virginia, who was watching her, knew that no deep nor stable emotion could long possess her light nature; and she felt her own heart fill with tenderness for the child. Benson, roused out of the apathy, in which he had passed the last hour, to something like brightness, said: “I wonder when we shall see you again, Mrs. Stillman? Those heathen over in India are to be congratulated.” “Confess you are not sorry to see the last of me!” said Anna, giving him her hand. “I shall confess nothing of the kind,” he assured her.