“Of whom are you speaking, my child?” inquired the General, raising his eyes from a report of the last great debate in the Senate.
“Of Alick. He sailed in the Erie for Liverpool on last Saturday,” answered Drusilla, quite calmly.
“Ah! he did? Well, I think it about the best thing he could have done. I hope he will stay there until he comes to his senses. Joy go with him!” heartily exclaimed the old gentleman.
“Dear uncle!” pleaded Drusilla.
“Well, my dear, what now?” I said, “Joy go with him. That was a benediction, was it not?”
“I thought it was a sarcasm,” said Drusilla, archly.
The General coughed slightly and returned to the perusal of the debate.
So Mr. Alexander had betaken himself to parts unknown, and Drusilla was by no means broken-hearted on that account.
All the tears she was ever destined to shed for him seemed already to have fallen; all the heart-aches she was ever to feel for him seemed already to have been suffered and forgotten.
Understand once for all that, though she loved him as faithfully and hoped in him as trustfully as ever, she no longer mourned his absence.