well-nigh gone! We sat up, my mother and I, till he returned. His
benign face looked profoundly sad.

"How is it, sir? Can you tell us more?" My father shook his head.

"Roland prays that you may preserve the same forbearance you have shown
hitherto, and never mention his son's name to him. Peace be to the
living, as to the dead! Kitty, this changes our plans; we must all go
to Cumberland,--we cannot leave Roland thus!"

"Poor, poor Roland!" said my mother, through her tears. "And to think
that father and son were not reconciled! But Roland forgives him now,--
oh, yes, now!"

"It is not Roland we can censure," said my father, almost fiercely; "it
is--But enough; we must hurry out of town as soon as we can: Roland will
recover in the native air of his old ruins."

We went up to bed mournfully. "And so," thought I, "ends one grand
object of my life! I had hoped to have brought those two together.
But, alas, what peacemaker like the grave!"




CHAPTER III.


My uncle did not leave his room for three days; but he was much closeted
with a lawyer, and my father dropped some words which seemed to imply