“’Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog’s honest bark,
    Bay deep-mouth’d welcome as we draw near home;
  ’Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark
    Our coming—­and look brighter when we come.”

       BYRON.

Edward Forster returned home with his little protegee, his mind relieved from the weight which had oppressed it:  he knew that the word of his brother was his bond, and that under a rough exterior he concealed a generous and sympathising heart.  It was in the early part of the autumn that he again took possession of the cottage; and as he once more seated himself in his old arm-chair, he mentally exclaimed, “Here then am I again at anchor for a short time, until summoned to another world.”  His prophecy was correct; during the severe winter that followed, his wound opened again, and his constitution, worn out, gave way to repeated suffering.  He had not been confined to his bed more than a fortnight when he felt that his end was approaching.  He had long been prepared:  nothing remained to be done but to write a letter to his brother, which he confided to Robertson, the fisherman, with directions that it should be put in the post-office immediately after his death; and a strict charge to watch over the little girl, until she should be sent for by his brother.

This last necessary act had been completed when Robertson, who was standing by the side of the bed, with the letter in his hand, informed him that the family at the Hall had returned from the Continent on the evening before, with their only son, who was now restored to health.  This intelligence induced Forster to alter his plans; and trusting to the former friendship of Lord Aveleyn, he despatched Robertson to the Hall, stating his own condition, and requesting that his lordship would come to the cottage.  Lord Aveleyn immediately obeyed the summons; and perceiving at the first glance that Forster’s situation debarred all chance of recovery, took upon himself with willingness the charge of the letter, and promised to receive Amber into his house until it was convenient that she should be removed.  It was dark when Lord Aveleyn, with melancholy foreboding, took his last farewell; for, ere the sun had risen again, the spirit of Edward Forster had regained its liberty, and soared to the empyrean, while the deserted Amber wept and prayed.

Edward Forster had not concealed from her the precarious tenure of his existence, and since their return from London had made her fully acquainted with all the particulars connected with her own history.  The last few weeks, every interval of suffering had been devoted by him to enforce those principles which he ever had inculcated, and to prepare for the event which had now taken place.