"God bless you, dear father and mother. I pray that he may once more unite us under the roof of the dear old home. So no more, at this time, from your affectionate son.
"P.S. Tell Dorothy to write a long letter for you. I want to hear all the home news. All about the farm and the horses, and how you got through the harvest without me, and whether Bill Taylor took my place at the last cricket match, and if old Pincher is still alive.
The letter was read and re-read many times, the delighted parents repeating every word after Dorothy. Holding each other by the hand, they exchanged glances of mutual affection and sympathy.
"The dear boy," cries the mother. "God bless him! I always knew he would be sorry, when he came to his right mind, and love us as well as ever."
"Aye," said the father, "I feel proud o' my son. He's o' the right stuff. He'll fight like a man, an' a true Briton, when the time comes, an' do his duty to his country like a hero."
Dorothy was the only one in the room who was not quite satisfied with Gilbert's letter. She was hurt at the clause about herself. If he loved her as she did him, could he speak in that light way about her marrying another, or send his love to her as to a sister--a title, which from boyhood he had always refused to address her by. A change had come over him since they parted; he had grown fonder of his parents, but colder to her. She would not damp their joy, by expressing her disappointment, but she felt it very keenly.
"Mother, you were a true prophet," she said, closing the letter and giving it back to Mr. Rushmere.
"Aye, child, hearts whisper to hearts, let the distance a'tween them be ever so great. Love can travel in a thought over land and sea. I b'lieve that Gilbert never thinks of me but I know it. I told you, Dorothy, that I should hear from him. I felt it in my heart."
"The angels don't whisper such blessed dreams to me," returned Dorothy, sadly.
"Dolly," and the old man spoke to her very gravely. "Art dreaming about Gilly yet? I thought you had clean forgotten him."
"Only as a sister should think of an absent brother," returned Dorothy, ashamed of the subterfuge. "As Gilbert himself wishes me to remember him."
"I b'lieve you ha' a hankering arter the lad yet," said Rushmere, tartly. "Dorothy, do'ant cross that stile, or maybe you'll get into a bad road, an' be left sticking in the mud. It won't do. It won't do, lass. I will never gi' my consent."