ow good and wise he had
grown. This little sermon she spoke with a gentle, solemn voice, and dry
eyes, until she came to the account of their meeting. Then the discourse
broke off suddenly, the tender heart overflowed, and taking the boy to
her breast, she rocked him in her arms, and wept silently over him.

Her mind being made up, the widow began at once to take such measures as
seemed right to her for achieving her purpose. One day, Miss Osborne, in
Russell Square, got a letter from Amelia, which made her blush very much,
and look towards her father, sitting glooming in his place at the other
end of the table.

In simple terms, Amelia told her the reasons which had induced her to
change her mind respecting her boy. Her father had met with fresh
misfortunes which had entirely ruined him. Her own pittance was so small
that it would barely enable her to support her parents and would not
suffice to give George the advantages which were his due. Great as her
sufferings would be at parting with him, she would, by God's help, endure
them for the boy's sake. She knew that those to whom he was going would
do all in their power to make him happy. She described his disposition,
such as she fancied it; quick and impatient of control or harshness,
easily to be moved by love and kindness. In a postscript, she stipulated
that she should have a written agreement that she should see the child as
often as she wished; she could not part with him under any other terms.

"What? Mrs. Pride has come down, has she?" old Osborne said, when with a
tremulous voice Miss Osborne read him the letter. "Reg'lar starved out,
hey? Ha, ha! I knew she would!" He tried to keep his dignity and to read
his paper as usual, but he could not follow it. At last he flung it down:
and scowling at his daughter, as his wont was, went out of the room and
presently returned with a key. He flung it to Miss Osborne.

"Get the room over mine--his room that was--ready," he said.

"Yes, sir," his daughter replied in a tremble.

It was George's room. It had not been opened for more than ten years.
Some of his clothes, papers, handkerchiefs, whips and caps, fishing-rods
and sporting gear, were still there. An army list of 1814, with his name
written on the cover; a little dictionary he was wont to use in writing;
and the Bible his mother had given him, were on the mantelpiece; with a
pair of spurs, and a dried inkstand covered with the dust of ten years.
Ah! since tha