Laboriously she computed the amount in English money, and, reckoned thus, her dollars and cents seemed to shrink and vanish. Still, more than half remained of what she had brought with her, and she viewed the matter calmly. The shadows fell long over the smooth greensward as she arrived in the village of Queensderry and was driven to a small inn, the only house of entertainment in the place. She was given a pleasant room overlooking fields and orchards and bright gardens, and the sight rested her eyes, and still further calmed her troubled heart. She would rest to-night, and to-morrow all would be well. Never had food tasted better to her than the supper served in her pretty room,--toast in a silver rack, and fresh butter, such as David loved, and curds and whey, and gingerbread, and a small jar of marmalade. She ate, seated in the window, looking out over the sweet English landscape in the warm twilight--the breeze stirring the white curtains--her little son in her lap gurgling and smiling up at her--and her heart with David, wherever he might be. Slowly the dusk veiled all, and one star glimmered above the slender church spire. A pretty maid brought candles and a book in which she was asked to write her name. She was the landlady's daughter and looked wholesome and bright. Cassandra glanced in her face as she set the candles down, and took up the pen mechanically. "Mother says will you sign here, please?" "Yes." Cassandra turned the leaves slowly and read other names and addresses--many of them. She wrote "Cassandra Merlin--" and paused; then, making a long dash, added simply, "America," and, handing back the book and pen, turned again to the window. "Thank you. Is that all?" said the maid, lingering. "Yes," said Cassandra again; then she laid her baby on the bed and began taking his night clothing from her bag. "How pretty he is! Shan't I help you unpack, ma'm?" Cassandra paused, looking dreamily before her as if scarcely comprehending, then she said: "Not to-night, thank you. Perhaps to-morrow." The maid deftly piled the supper dishes and, taking them and the book with her, departed with a pleasant "Good night, ma'm." In spite of her calmness, Cassandra lay wakeful and patient, and when at last she did sleep, it seemed to her she stood with her husband on her father's path, looking out under overarching boughs, upon blue distances of heaped-up mountain tops, and David's flute notes, silvery sweet, were raining down upon her. She awoke to discover day was breaking, and a pealing of bells from some distant church tower was announcing the fact.