Anne was kneeling too, but she was no longer the meek, shy stranger.
Now, in the hour of trouble, she poured forth, in a voice fervent
and sweet, a prayer for protection and support for their beloved
one, so that it might be well with him, whatever might be his
Heavenly Father's Will.

As she paused, Mrs. Poynsett, in a choked voice, said, "Thank you,
dear child;" when there were steps in the hall. Anne started up,
Lenore buried her face on Mrs. Poynsett's bosom, the mother clasped
her hands over her convulsively, then beheld, as the door opened, a
tall figure, with a dark bright face full of ineffable softness and
joy. Frank himself, safe and sound, with his two brothers behind
him. They stayed not to speak, but hastened to spread the glad
tidings; while he flung himself down, including both his mother and
Lenore in one rapturous embrace, and carrying his kiss from one to
the other--conscious, if no one else was, that this first seal of
his love was given in his mother's arms.

Lenore did indeed extricate herself, and stand up as rosy red as she
had been pale; but she had no room for any thought beyond his
mother's trembling "Not hurt, my dear?"

"Not hurt! Not a scratch! Thank God! Oh! thank God!" answered
Frank, quivering all over with thankfulness, though probably far
more at the present joy than the past peril.

"Yes--oh, thanks for His mercy!" echoed Anne, giving fervent hand
and tearful cheek to the eager salutation, which probably would have
been as energetic to Clio or old Betty at that moment!