den wall, dreaming too in her way. Shirley had mentioned the
word "mother." That word suggested to Caroline's imagination not the
mighty and mystical parent of Shirley's visions, but a gentle human
form--the form she ascribed to her own mother, unknown, unloved, but not
unlonged for.

"Oh that the day would come when she would remember her child! Oh that I
might know her, and knowing, love her!"

Such was her aspiration.

The longing of her childhood filled her soul again. The desire which
many a night had kept her awake in her crib, and which fear of its
fallacy had of late years almost extinguished, relit suddenly, and
glowed warm in her heart, that her mother might come some happy day,
and send for her to her presence, look upon her fondly with loving eyes,
and say to her tenderly, in a sweet voice, "Caroline, my child, I have a
home for you; you shall live with me. All the love you have needed, and
not tasted, from infancy, I have saved for you carefully. Come; it shall
cherish you now."

A noise on the road roused Caroline from her filial hopes, and Shirley
from her Titan visions. They listened, and heard the tramp of horses.
They looked, and saw a glitter through the trees. They caught through
the foliage glimpses of martial scarlet; helm shone, plume waved. Silent
and orderly, six soldiers rode softly by.

"The same we saw this afternoon," whispered Shirley. "They have been
halting somewhere till now. They wish to be as little noticed as
possible, and are seeking their rendezvous at this quiet hour, while the
people are at church. Did I not say we should see unusual things ere
long?"

Scarcely were sight and sound of the soldiers lost, when another and
somewhat different disturbance broke the night-hush--a child's impatient
scream. They looked. A man issued from the church, carrying in his arms
an infant--a robust, ruddy little boy of some two years old--roaring
with all the power of his lungs. He had probably just awaked from a
church-sleep. Two little girls, of nine and ten, followed. The influence
of the fresh air, and the attraction of some flowers gathered from a
grave, soon quieted the child. The man sat down with him, dandling him
on his knee as tenderly as any woman; the two little girls took their
places one on each side.

"Good-evening, William," said Shirley, after due scrutiny of the man. He
had seen her before, and apparently was waiting to be recognized. He now
took off his hat, and grinned