“It means,” said Eliza, gathering herself up from the floor, “that the man you love to idolatry—but who loves me in spite of every thing—is fascinated with that girl who played Rebecca in that hideous tableau. I saw them walking together a whole hour this very day, his face bent to hers, her hand clasping his arm.” Georgiana sunk to her chair again, white and faint. “Aunt Eliza, please let me rest a little, I am not well, you know.” Tears were in her voice, tears trembled on her eyelashes. Eliza was satisfied, and went out of the room. CHAPTER XIII. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. “What are you doing, Joseph?” The child did not answer at first; the bright red came into his innocent cheeks, and he gave a little laugh of mingled confusion and glee as he trotted out of the corner, and came toward his grandmother. The old lady had paused for a second in her work; but she could not afford to forget herself into stopping completely, and her wasted fingers began moving as assiduously as ever. “I thought you were trying to fly,” said she, smiling in her sweet, patient way, the sort of smile that human lips only wear when they have been purified by great and patient suffering. “I didn’t know but you had a pair of wings hid away under your jacket.” “I wish I had!” exclaimed Joseph, impetuously. “Oh! I wish I could fly, grandma!” “Why, what would you do, Joey?” she asked, looking almost wonderingly down at his eager face all aglow with enthusiasm. “I’d fly away to heaven and bring father back,” he whispered, nestling close to her side. The old woman dropped her work, and folded her arms close about him; while one dry sob, that takes the place of tears with the aged, shook her breast. “I’m afraid the angels wouldn’t let you come back,” she whispered; “grandma couldn’t lose her boy.” “No, no! I’d come back,” he said, eagerly; “and I would just tell father how we want him.” “The good Father of all knows best, Joseph,” she answered, with sweet submission. “You mustn’t wish anybody back that has gone over the black waters.” “Only we need him so, grandma.” “Yes, deary; but you don’t forget your little hymn. We ain’t alone, you know.” “No, grandma! Oh! if I was only a big man!” he cried, with immense energy. “Were you trying to stretch yourself into one?” she asked, bringing herself back to ordinary reflections; for she had learned, poor soul, in those years of trial, how dangerous it is to give way to yearning thoughts after the dear ones who have gone forward to the eternal rest. “Yes, grandma,” said the boy, bursting into a laugh at his own performance—such a merry, rippling laugh, that it made the old woman think of the sound the mountain brooks made among the wild country scenes she had so loved in the days when life was still an actual pleasure.