Some months passed during which I did not hear from Mrs. Fairfield, nor did the nurse receive her payment. I wrote to Savannah, but received no answer. The nurse, poor woman, naturally could not keep the child without payment, and brought him one fine afternoon to my house to leave him, and also demanding the back pay. My own children, being delighted with the dear little fellow, we decided to keep and bring him up as our own child should his mother never return. And many of my fair patients will remember the lovely, little curly-headed fellow who would run into the parlor uninvited, but whose large blue eyes would appeal so sweetly to be allowed to stay. Indeed we all became so attached to him that we hoped nobody would ever claim him. And, as twelve months had passed, I gave up all hope of ever hearing from Mrs. Fairfield again. Fairfield had been confined in Pentenville, having been convicted on a charge of felony-treason, and sentenced to five years’ imprisonment. His wife and, friends not having heard of his trial, no one was present to bear testimony in his favor, and both he and his men (many of whom happened to be Irishmen) were imprisoned. The Americans claimed the protection of their flag, a covering which proved sufficiently substantial to protect them, but the only flag which could have been claimed by poor unfortunate George was the very one he was accused of attacking. As the British Government did not wish to deal harshly with Fenian prisoners, or, as its enemies said, was afraid to trample any longer on the Irish people, George Fairfield and his companions, in common with many real Fenians, were liberated some years before the expiration of their term of servitude. Fairfield at once sought his late home, hoping to find his wife and child still alive, and cursing his fate, which had cast him twice on the pitiless ocean, only to be arrested and imprisoned as soon as he got to land. But the worst had yet to come. When he arrived at his old home and found it occupied by strangers his heart sank within him; on enquiring for Mrs. Fairfield he was informed that she had gone to America with her servant Bertrand. Grasping the railings to keep himself from falling, the poor stricken man gazed wildly at his informant, as though stunned by a severe blow; then gasping out an apology of some kind he rushed along the street like a madman, stopping not till he had got far out into the open country. There, throwing himself headlong on the grass, he shed tears of anguish, moaning as if in bodily pain. “Why did I not go down with the ship?” he cried bitterly; “Was it for this I toiled twice over on the open sea? Ah, why was I ever born to be tossed about, imprisoned, and deserted?”