e, for Althea was thinking of her child,
not of her husband; and this reference replunged her into grief.

Hubert's sympathy was aroused, and he attempted words of consolation.
When he saw how worse than vain these were, he endeavored to withdraw
her mind, by giving vivid descriptions of and experiences in foreign
lands.

Althea made an effort--an effort for the lack of which died Dickens'
Fanny, little Paul's mother--and listened through politeness and
courtesy. Gradually, her mind awakened to a lively interest; and before
the day was spent, she regarded her cousin as the most interesting
gentleman of her acquaintance.

"How fortunate he should have come now, just in this time of my
distress," she whispered to herself, as she was about to retire,
stopping to weep over the little night-wrapper, whose wearer was gone,
but which still had its place beneath her pillow. She had a thought,
too, which she did not whisper, and it was this: "how fortunate too that
he should have come while Thornton is gone, that no thundercloud may
hang over us."

Hubert had made a short visit to Kennons. Mr. Fuller was still overseer
of the plantation, which he had conducted satisfactorily. Mrs. Lisle
had, of course, returned to Thornton Hall. Amy and Chloe were installed
in their cabins of old, and had supervision of the white house. From
these faithful servants Hubert had learned the deception that had been
practiced upon his father, during that parent's close of life. At least,
he learned how letter after letter had been written, how impatiently
his arrival had been awaited, and with what bitter disappointment that
father had quitted the world, unreconciled that his son came not.

These communicative old women unfolded to their pet young master, as
they still loved to call him, the plan that father had cherished with
regard to himself and Althea. For this also was not unknown to them.
Duncan Lisle had dropped into Amy's ear more than one hint of this kind.
He had none other to confide in; and during a sleepless night, while Amy
watched, he whiled away an hour discoursing of his son, and of the
project in view. This faithful servant had Althea's picture treasured
with jealous care.

"You shall see it, Massa 'Ubert, an' see what you've done gone an'
lost," unrolling the precious memento from its many wrappings, as if it
had been a mummy embalmed.

Hubert beheld "what he had lost" first with admiration, then with a
sigh. But the sigh