"But I am not taking the dear child away from you forever," said my mother, bending from the carriage window. "She will come and see you often, my dear Mr. Walworth, and you will come and see her. You have the number of our town residence on that card. And bring your son, and good Alice with you, and,----" The carriage rolled away. So strange and unexpected had been the circumstances of this departure from my home, that I could scarce believe myself awake. I did not raise my head, until we had descended the hill, passed the village and gained a mile or more on our way. We were ascending a long slope, which led to the summit of a hill, from which, I knew, I might take a last view of my childhood's home. As we reached the summit of the hill, my mother was looking out of one window toward the river, and I looked out of the other, and saw, beyond the church spire and over the hills, the white walls of my home. "Frank!" whispered a low voice. Ernest was by the carriage. There was a look exchanged, a word, and he was gone. Gone into the trees by the? roadside. He left a flower in my hand. I placed it silently in my bosom. "Frank! How beautiful you have grown!" said my mother, turning from the window, and fixing upon me an ardent and admiring gaze. And the next moment she was wrapt in thought and the wrinkle grew deeper between her brows. CHAPTER IX. ERNEST AND HIS SINGULAR ADVENTURE. Before I resume my own history, I must relate an instance in the life of Ernest, which had an important bearing on his fate. (This incident I derive from MSS. written by Ernest himself.) Soon after my departure from the cottage home, he came to New York with his father, and they directed their steps to my mother's residence; as indicated on the card which she had left with the clergyman; but to their great disappointment, they discovered that my mother and myself had just left town for Niagara Falls. Six months afterward, Ernest received a long letter from me, concluding with these words: "_To-morrow, myself and mother take passage for Europe, in the steamer. We will be absent for a year or more._" Determined to see me at all hazards, he hurried to town, but, too late! The steamer had sailed; her flag fluttered in the air, far down the bay, as standing on the battery, Ernest followed her course, with an almost maddened gaze. Sorrowfully he returned to the country and informed his father of my sudden departure for Europe. "Can she have forgotten us?" said the old man. "O, father, this letter," replied Ernest, showing the long letter which I had written, "this will show you that she has not forgotten us, but that her heart beats warmly as ever--that she is the same." And he read the letter to the good old man, who frequently interrupted him, with "God bless her! God bless my child!"