“I fervently thank Heaven, sir, for giving me the power of pleasing you in this matter,” murmured the blushing young mother, in a low and tremulous voice.
“And this I will say, my child, that the name your boy will bear, has never, in the thousand years of its existence, been sullied by a shadow of dishonor.”
“I know it has been borne by heroes and sages, and by none others. I hope and pray that my boy will prove worthy of his noble ancestry,” fervently breathed Drusilla.
“That I feel sure, he will! If Heaven should grant me a few more years of life, I shall take great delight in watching the growth of little Leonard Lyon,” replied the old gentleman, as he arose, and kissed the mother and the babe, and left the room.
The following Sunday proved to be a very fine day. At an early hour, the capacious family carriage of General Lyon was at the door, well warmed and aired for the reception of the delicate mother and the tender infant.
Not even on her first bridal day, had Drusilla looked so lovely as she did now, when she came down-stairs, dressed for church, her delicate, pale beauty, still more tenderly softened by her simple bonnet of white velvet, and wrappings of white furs.
She was attended by mammy, dressed in her Sunday’s best, and carrying the baby, richly arrayed in his christening robes.
General Lyon, Anna, Drusilla, the nurse and the baby rode in the carriage.
Dick Hammond, on horseback, escorted them.
The parish church was at Saulsburg, six, eight, or ten miles off, according to conflicting statements. So, early as they set out, they were not likely to be much too early to join in the commencement of the service.