Delight’s glance took in also another face than Asenath’s, grown into something in these months that no training or taking thought could have done for it.  “Yes,” she said, in the same still way in which she had spoken before, “that comes too,—­as God wills.  All things shall be added.”

* * * * *

My hint is of a Western home, just outside the leaping growth and ceaseless stir of a great Western city; a large, low, cosy mansion, with a certain Old World mellowness and rest in its aspect,—­looking forth, even, as it does on one side, upon the illimitable sunset-ward sweep of the magnificent promise of the New; on the other, it catches a glimpse, beyond and beside the town, of the calm blue of a fresh-water ocean.

The place is “Ingleside;” the General will call it by no other than the family name,—­the sweet Scottish synonym for Home-corner.  And here, while I have been writing and you reading these pages, he has had them all with him; Oliver and Susan, on their bridal journey, which waited for summer-time to come again, though they have been six months married; Rose, of course, and Dakie Thayne, home in vacation from a great school where he is studying hard, hoping for West Point by and by; Leslie Goldthwaite, who is Dakie’s inspiration still; and our Flower, our Pansy, our Delight,—­golden-eyed Lady of innumerable sweet names.

The sweetest and truest of all, says the brave soldier and high-souled gentleman, is that which he has persuaded her to wear for life,—­Delight Ingleside.