"How beautiful she has grown!" I heard my mother exclaim. One look into the old familiar library room, one moment in prayer by the bed, in which I had slept since childhood!
Placing the bonnet on my curls, and dropping my shawl around me, I hurried from my cottage home. There were a few moments of agony, of blessings, of partings and tears. Old Alice pressed me in her arms, and bid me good-by. The good old clergyman laid his hands upon my head, and lifting his beaming eyes to heaven, invoked the blessing of God upon my head.
"I give your child to you again!" he said, placing me in my mother's arms—"May she be a blessing to you, as for years past she has been the blessing and peace of my home!"
I looked around for Ernest; he had disappeared.
I entered the carriage, and sank sobbing on the seat.
"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.