"And then I shall think you completely cured of this unsoldier-like infirmity, when you are able to march as far as the church, and serve one tour of duty in the grave-yard."
"By myself?" inquired Henry, with concern.
"You wouldn't have me go with you, brother?"
"I should feel very brave if you did, Mildred; for you are as brave as a general. But if Stephen Foster will keep in the neighborhood—near enough to hear my 'All's well'—I think I could stand it out."
"You must go alone," said Mildred, cheerfully, "before I shall think you fit to be promoted."
"If you say I must, sister Mildred, why, then I must: and there's an end of it. But your discipline is forty times more severe than the German Baron's at Richmond. Father looks pale this morning," continued Henry, as he turned his eyes towards the porch, where Mr. Lindsay was now seen walking forward and back, with his arms folded across his breast. "Something perpetually troubles him, Mildred. I wish that devil, Tyrrel, had been buried before he ever found his way to the Dove Cote! See he comes this way."
Both Mildred and Henry ran to meet Lindsay, and encountered him before he had advanced a dozen paces over the lawn.
"Such a day, father!" said Mildred, as she affectionately took his hand. "It is a luxury to breathe this air."
"God has given us a beautiful heaven, my children, and a rich and bountiful earth. He has filled them both with blessings. Man only mars them with his cursed passions," said Lindsay, with a sober accent.
"You have heard bad news, father?" said Henry, inquiringly; "what has happened?"