Harold “went home,” early in that month, dying as calmly and quietly as “fades a summer cloud away,” or “sinks the gale when storms are o’er.”

He was buried with military honors, and the friends returned to the house, sorely to miss, indeed, the wasted form, and wan, yet patient, cheerful face, and the loved voice, ever ready with words of consolation and hope; but while weeping over their own present bereavement, rejoicing in his joy and the assurance of a blessed reunion in a better land, when they, too, should be able to say, “I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course:  I have kept the faith.”

It was a melancholy satisfaction to Rose that she had been with him almost constantly during the last three months of his life; her husband had not hurried her; but now both they, and Mr. Travilla and Elsie, felt that the time had come when they should hasten their return to their own homes.

They set out the next week; not a gay party, but filled with a subdued, quiet cheerfulness.  Some of their dear ones, but lately journeying with them towards the Celestial City, had reached the gates and entered in; but they were following after, and would overtake them at length; and, though the way might be at times rough and stony to their weary feet, the path compassed by foes both wily and strong, yet there was with them One mightier than all the hosts of hell, and who had promised never to leave nor forsake.  “In all these things they should be more than conquerors, through Him that loved them.”

After entering Virginia, they saw all along the route the sad ravages of the war, and their hearts sent up earnest petitions that those waste places might speedily be restored, and their dear native land never again be visited with that fearful scourge.

The scenes grew more saddening as they neared their journey’s end, and could recognize, in the ruined houses and plantations, the wrecks of the former happy homes of friends and neighbors.

They all went directly to the Oaks, where the Travillas were to find a home until Ion could be made again comfortably habitable.  It was late in the afternoon of a cloudy, showery day that they found themselves actually rolling quietly along the broad winding drive that led through the grounds to the noble mansion they had left more than five years before.

Even here there were sad signs of neglect:  the grounds had forgotten their former neat and trim appearance, and the house needed paint and some slight repairs.  But this was all; and they felt it a cause for thankfulness that things were no worse.

A group of relatives and retainers were gathered in the veranda to greet them; an aged, white-haired man the central figure, around him three ladies in deep mourning, a one-armed gentleman, and a crowd of children of both sexes and all ages, from the babe in arms to the youth of sixteen; while in the rear could be seen Mrs. Murray’s portly figure, and strong, sensible Scotch face, beaming with pleasure, relieved by a background of dusky faces, lighted up with joy and expectation.