‘I am not satisfied upon this subject,’ said the timid George, ‘so, as you seem resolved to stay here, I shall be off.’ ‘Ellen,’ I repeated, as soon as George had departed ‘Have you forgotten me?’ ‘No, Clara, no,’ answered the affectionate girl, ‘nor never shall forget you. I was even talking about you, as you called. Ah! Clara, you’re sadly altered; and so is everything since you went away. Such a day as it was, when you left us!—There wasn’t a dry eye, nor a cheerful word spoke in the village. Your poor father—’ ‘Well—well!’ I hurriedly interrupted. ‘I see it grieves you,’ said Ellen; ‘I didn’t mean to make you sad—you look as if you had suffered enough. This is my wedding-day, Clara.’ Ellen sighed, and for a moment averted her head. ‘Yes, Ellen,’ I resumed, ‘I wish to see my mother, and to see her privately. She would not, perhaps, admit me to her presence, if she was not forewarned. You can oblige me greatly, if you will induce her to come to me, by saying that a stranger desires to speak with her, immediately.’ ‘That I will, with all my heart,’ said Ellen, ‘and may it turn to good. Oh, may all the realization of her hopes attend the returning wanderer. But where shall I find you?’ ‘I’ll follow you,’ I answered, ‘go round to the front door; I’ll take the opposite side, and meet you at the gate. And Heaven will help the heart, determined to retrace the paths of rectitude and honor,’ I cried, as with a heart beating with hope and dread, I made my way towards the house of my beloved parents. Oh, never shall I forget the feelings with which I entered at the gate. ‘Here is my home!—my blessed, blessed home!’ I reflected; ‘a frowning form appears to guard the threshold, shrieking in my ear—‘Hence! thou shalt not enter!’ But can I linger here?—I seem to tread the earth like a criminal. I must, and I will approach! Now, now now!’ Having at last made a violent effort to conquer my emotions, I rushed down the steps into the yard, and then exclaimed triumphantly— ‘Once more I am surrounded by all that is dear to me!—Father! mother!—your unhappy child, sorrowing, imploring, returns to you!—And hark! I hear the song of my childhood floating on the air. How acutely doth its accents strike upon my heart in such a scene as this, around whose every tree and flower some recollection of infancy’s entwined.’