And find in loss a gain to match?
Or reach a hand through time to catch
The far-off interest of tears?
TENNYSON.


The day came.

The farewell dinner was got ready -- the best of the season it
must be, for the honour of all parties and the love of one;
but it mocked them. Mrs. Landholm's noble roast pig, and sweet
chickens, and tea and fine bread; they were something to be
remembered, not enjoyed, and to be remembered for ever, as
part of one strong drop of life's bittersweet mixture. The
travellers, for Mr. Landholm was to accompany his son, had
already dressed themselves in their best; and the other eyes,
when they could, gazed with almost wondering pride on the very
fine and graceful figure of the young seeker of fortune. But
eyes could do little, and lips worse than little. The pang of
quitting the table, and the hurried and silent good-byes, were
over at last; and the wagon was gone.

It seemed that the whole household was gone. The little ones
had run to some corner to cry; Winthrop was nowhere; and the
mother of the family stood alone and still by the table in the
kitchen where they had left her.

An old black woman, the sole house servant of the family,
presently came in, and while taking up two or three of the
plates, cast looks of affectionate pity at her mistress and