ed over the lawn to meet the travelers. Fanny, who was accustomed
to the savage watchdogs of Kentucky, sprang back in terror and clung to
Mr. Miller for protection; but Kate cried out, "Do not fear; it is only
Hector, and he wouldn't harm you for the world." Then she ran forward to
meet him, and embraced him as fondly as though he had really been a human
being, and understood and appreciated it all. And he did seem to, for
after caressing Kate, he looked about as if in quest of the missing one.
Gradually he seemed to become convinced that Richard was not there; again
was heard the old wailing howl; but this time it was more prolonged, more
despairing. Faithful creature! Know you not that summer's gentle gale and
winter's howling storm have swept over the grave of him whom you so
piteously bemoan.

Fanny stopped her ears to shut out the bitter cry, but if Kate heard it,
she heeded it not, and bounded on over the graveled walk toward her
mother, who was eagerly waiting for her. In an instant parent and child
were weeping in each other's arms.

"My Kate, my darling Kate, are you indeed here?" said Mrs. Wilmot.

Kate's only answer was a still more passionate embrace. Then recollecting
herself, she took her husband's hand and presented him to her mother,
saying, "Mother, I could not bring you Richard, but I have brought you
another son. Will you not give him room in your heart?"

Mrs. Wilmot had never seen Mr. Miller before, but she was prepared to like
him, not only because he was her daughter's choice, but because he had
been the devoted friend of her son; consequently she greeted him with a
most kind and affectionate welcome.

During all this time Fanny was leaning against one of the pillars of the
piazza, but her thoughts were far away. She was thinking of her distant
Kentucky home, and a half feeling of homesickness crept over her, as she
thought how joyfully she would be greeted there, should she ever return.
Her reverie was of short duration, for Kate approached, and leading her to
her mother, simply said, "Mother, this is Fanny."

'Twas enough. The word Fanny had a power to open the fountains of that
mother's heart. She had heard the story of the young girl, who had watched
so unweariedly by the bedside of Richard--she had heard, too, of the
generous old man, whose noble heart had cared for and cherished the
stranger, and she knew that she, who advanced toward her so timidly, was
the same young girl, the same ol