It was a new experience to the poor, discarded, and deposed young wife to find herself the central object of interest in a family like General Lyon’s, her health and happiness watched over and provided for with the most affectionate solicitude.
She had not a care in the world. She scarcely had a regret. She knew the worst. She knew that her last act had banished Alexander from her side. But when she looked upon her boy’s face, and reflected that no stigma now rested upon his baby brow, she could not regret her act. With the childlike simplicity of her character, she “accepted the situation.”
In the sunshine of this sweet old home, her heart expanded to all kindly sympathies.
She—the orphan girl, who had never been blessed by a father’s tender care, deeply responded to the affection bestowed on her by old General Lyon, and really doted on the fine veteran. At his desire she called him uncle; but she loved him as a father. She would watch and listen for his footsteps, in his daily visit to her sick room; and she would kiss and fondle his aged hands and then lift up her boy to receive his blessing.
And often on these occasions the veteran’s eyes filled with tears, as he glanced from the childish mother to the child, and murmured:
“Poor children! poor children! while I live you shall be my children.”
Anna was not less kind than her grandfather to Drusilla.
And she, the only daughter, who had never before known a sister’s companionship, loved Miss Lyon with a sister’s love, and delighted in her cheerful society.
She felt friendly towards Dick, and was very fond of the attentive old servants. Indeed, her loving, sunny spirit went out on all around her.
But her greatest joy was in her child. She would soothe him to sleep with the softest, sweetest notes, and after laying him in his cradle, she would kneel and gaze on his sleeping face for hours.