came, yet now he was too agitated to enjoy. Exertion and expectation
made him restless, and he could settle down to nothing all day, every
hour of which hung most heavily on his hands.

At last the afternoon wore away, and a soft summer evening filled the
sky with its gorgeous calm. Far off they caught the sound of wheels; a
carriage dashed up to the door, and the next moment Eric sprang into his
mother's arms.

"O mother, mother!"

"My own darling, darling boy!"

And as the pale sweet face of the mother met the bright and rosy
child-face, each of them was wet with a rush of ineffable tears. In
another moment Eric had been folded to his father's heart, and locked in
the arms of "little brother Vernon." Who shall describe the emotions of
those few moments? they did not seem like earthly moments; they seemed
to belong not to time, but to eternity.

The first evening of such a scene is too excited to be happy. The little
party at Fairholm retired early, and Eric was soon fast asleep with his
arm round his newfound brother's neck.

Quiet steps entered the little room, and noiselessly the father and
mother sat down by the bedside of their children. Earth could have shown
no scene more perfect in its beauty than that which met their eyes. The
pure moonlight flooded the little room, and showed distinctly the forms
and countenances of the sleepers, whose soft regular breathing was the
only sound that broke the stillness of the July night. The small shining