“He is a soldier, Beulah, and a good one; so good that his son can teach him nothing.  I wish I could say that he is as good a subject:  I fear he leans to the side of the colonies.”

“Heaven be praised!” exclaimed Beulah—­“Oh! that his son would incline in the same direction.”

“Nay, Beulah,” rejoined Maud, reproachfully; “you speak without reflection.  Mamma bitterly regrets that papa sees things in the light he does. She thinks the parliament right, and the colonies wrong.”

“What a thing is a civil war!” ejaculated the major—­“Here is husband divided against wife—­son against father—­brother against sister.  I could almost wish I were dead, ere I had lived to see this!”

“Nay, Robert, it is not so bad as that, either,” added Maud.  “My mother will never oppose my father’s will or judgment.  Good wives, you know, never do that.  She will only pray that he may decide right, and in a way that his children will never have cause to regret.  As for me, I count for nothing, of course.”

“And Beulah, Maud; is she nothing, too?  Here will Beulah be praying for her brother’s defeat, throughout this war.  It has been some presentiment of this difference of opinion that has probably induced you to forget me, while Beulah and my mother were passing so many hours to fill that basket.”

“Perhaps you do Maud injustice, Robert,” said Beulah, smiling.  “I think I can say none loves you better than our dear sister—­or no one has thought of you more, in your absence.”

“Why, then, does the basket contain no proof of this remembrance—­not even a chain of hair—­a purse, or a ring—­nothing, in short, to show that I have not been forgotten, when away.”

“Even if this be so,” said Maud, with spirit, “in what am I worse than yourself.  What proof is there that you have remembered us?”

“This,” answered the major, laying before his sisters two small packages, each marked with the name of its proper owner.  “My mother has her’s, too, and my father has not been forgotten.”

Beulah’s exclamations proved how much she was gratified with her presents; principally trinkets and jewelry, suited to her years and station.  First kissing the major, she declared her mother must see what she had received, before she retired for the night, and hurried from the room.  That Maud was not less pleased, was apparent by her glowing cheeks and tearful eyes; though, for a wonder, she was far more restrained in the expression of her feelings.  After examining the different articles, with pleasure, for a minute or two, she went, with a quick impetuous movement, to the basket, tumbled all its contents on the table, until she reached the scarf, which she tossed towards the major, saying, with a faint laugh—­

“There, unbeliever—­heathen—­is that nothing?  Was that made in a minute, think you?”

“This!” cried the major, opening the beautiful, glossy fabric in surprise.  “Is not this one of my father’s old sashes, to which I have fallen heir, in the order of nature?”