"True love can ne'er forget.
Fondly as when we met,
Dearest, I love thee yet,
My darling one."

Tom Brandon said he would be true to her. The war is over; surely if
living he will come. Though the thick fog at times drifts in from the
sea, shutting out the landscape and all surrounding objects, though
the rain patters on the roof, and the days are dark and dreary, her
face is calm and serene, glorified by a steadfast faith and changeless
love.

The time has been long to the occupants of the cottage across the way.
Though little gold is left in the purse, there is ever room for hungry
refugees at the table of the king's former commissioner of imposts.
The locks beneath his tie wig are whiter than they were, the furrows
on his brow have deepened. Officers of the army and navy in Halifax,
once guests in his home on the slope of Beacon Hill, sometimes call
upon him, but the great world has passed him by. Old friends, fellow
exiles, at times gather at his fireside, talk of other days, and of
what Parliament may possibly do for them.

Time has left its mark upon the face of her who sits by his side. The
soft, brown hair has changed to gray. Plans of other days have not
come to pass. Disappointment and grief have quenched ambitious fire.
Father and mother are separated from a daughter beloved. How could
Ruth ever become a rebel, disloyal to her rightful sovereign? What
possessed her to turn her back upon Lord Upperton, upon the
opportunity to become a peeress of the realm? Oh, the misery that has
come from such waywardness! What has become of her? Will they ever
again see her?

[Illustration: Home of the Exiles.]

* * * * *

With the flag of the new nation--the banner of crimson stripes and
fadeless stars--flying at her masthead, the ship Berinthia Brandon,
Major Tom Brandon owner, comes proudly sailing into Halifax harbor.
The anchor dropped, he makes his way to the vine-clad cabin, listens a
moment by the latticed window to hear a sweet voice singing words that
thrill him.

"Dearest, I love thee yet,
My darling one."

He lifts the latch. There is a cry of delight, and Mary springs to his
arms.

"I said I would come, and I am here."

"I knew you would, Tom. Ever since a ship arrived bringing the news
from Yorktown that Cornwallis had surrendered, I have been expecting
you."

"How do you do, father?" said Major Tom, holding out his hand to Mr.
Shrimpt