Weeks passed, during which the invalid occupied the sofa in his room--and Edith was his sole nurse. And then Commodore Waugh, with his wife, servants and caravan returned to Luckenough. The old soldier had been "posted up," he said, relative to all that had transpired in his absence. There were no words, he declared, to express his admiration of Edith's "heroism." It was in vain that Edith assured him that she had not been heroic at all--that the preservation of Luckenough had been due rather to the timely succor of the college boys than to her own imprudent resolution. It did no good--the old man was determined to look upon his niece as a heroine worthy to stand by the side of Joan of Arc. "For," said he, "was it not the soul of a heroine that enabled her to stay and guard the house; and would the college company ever have come to the rescue of these old walls if they had not heard that she had resolutely remained to guard them and was almost alone in the house? Don't tell me! Edith is the star maiden of old St. Mary's, and I'm proud of her! She is worthy to be my niece and heiress! A true descendant of Marie Zelenski, is she! And I'll tell you what I'll do, Edith!" he said, turning to her, "I'll reward you, my dear! I will. I'll marry you to Professor Grimshaw! That's what I'll do, my dear! And you both shall have Luckenough; that you shall!" Months passed--the war was over--peace was proclaimed, and still the young ensign, an invalid, unable to travel, lingered at Luckenough. Regularly he received his pay; twice he received an extension of leave of absence; and all through the instrumentality of--Thorg. Yet all this filled Edith with the greatest uneasiness and foreboding--ungrateful, incomprehensible, yet impossible to be delivered from. CHAPTER IV. EDITH'S TROUBLES. Late in the spring Ensign Michael Shields received orders to join his regiment in Canada, and upon their reception he had an explanation with Edith, and with her permission, had requested her hand of her uncle, Commodore Waugh. This threw the veteran into a towering passion, and nearly drove him from his proprieties as host. The young ensign was unacceptable to him upon every account. First and foremost, he wasn't "Grim," Then he was an Israelite. And, lastly! horror of horrors! he was a British officer, and dared to aspire to the hand of Edith. It was in vain that his wife, the good Henrietta, tried to mollify him; the storm raged for several days--raged, till it had expended all its strength, and subsided from exhaustion. Then he called Edith and tried to talk the matter over calmly with her.