The next day after the settlement at Samuel Anderson’s, August came to claim his wife.  Mrs. Abigail had now employed a “help” in Cynthy Ann’s place, and Julia could be spared.  August had refused all invitations to take up his temporary residence with Julia’s parents.  The house had unpleasant associations in his mind, and he wanted to relieve Julia at once and forever from a despotism to which she could not offer any effectual resistance.  Mrs. Anderson had eagerly loaded the wagon with feather-beds and other bridal property, and sent it over to the castle, that Julia might appear to leave with her blessing.  She kissed Julia tenderly, and hoped she’d have a happy life, and told her that if her husband should ever lose his property or treat her badly—­such things may happen, you know—­then she would always find a home with her mother.  Julia thanked her for the offer of a refuge to which she never meant to flee under any circumstances.  And yet one never turns away from one’s home without regret, and Julia looked back with tears in her eyes at the chattering swifts whose nests were in the parlor chimney, and at the pee-wee chirping on the gate-post.  The place had entered into her life.  It looked lonesome now, but within a year afterward Norman suddenly married Betsey Malcolm.  Betsey’s child had died soon after its birth, and Mrs. Anderson set herself to manage both Norman and his wife, who took up their abode with her.  Nothing but a reign of terror could have made either of them of any account, but Mrs. Anderson furnished them this in any desirable quantity.  They were never of much worth, even under her management, but she kept them in bounds, so that Norman ceased to get drunk more than five or six times a year, and Betsey flirted but little and at her peril.

Once the old house was out of sight, there were no shadows on Julia’s face as she looked forward toward the new life.  She walked in a still happiness by August as they went down through Shady Hollow.  August had intended to show her a letter that he had from the mud-clerk, describing the bringing of Humphreys back to Paducah and his execution by a mob.  But there was something so repelling in the gusto with which the story was told, and the story was so awful in itself, that he could not bear to interrupt the peaceful happiness of this hour by saying anything about it.

August proposed to Julia that they should take a path through the meadow of the river-farm—­their own farm now—­and see the foundation of the little cottage Andrew had begun for them.  And so in happiness they walked on through the meadow-path to the place on which their home was to stand.  But, alas! there was not a stick of timber left.  Every particle of the material had been removed.  It seemed that some great disappointment threatened them at the moment of their happiness.  They hurried on in silent foreboding to the castle, but there the mystery was explained.

“I told you not to tempt me too far,” said Andrew.  “See!  I have concluded to build an addition to the castle and let you civilize me.  We will live together and I will reform.  This lonely life is not healthy, and now that I have children, why should I not let them live here with me?”