CHAPTER XXXII.

  “There’s a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told,
     When two, that are linked in one heavenly tie,
   With heart never changing, and brow never cold,
     Love on through all ills, and love on till they die!”

  MOORE.

“Come, Florence, put on your bonnet; we land in a few moments,” said Mr. Stewart, entering the splendidly furnished saloon of a Mississippi steamer, where she sat, book in hand.  Quietly the young wife, for such she now was, complied with his request, and taking her husband’s arm, they advanced to the bow of the boat.  It was a bright, sunny morning in early May, and the balmy breath of the opening summer wafted gladness to many a weary, aching heart.  The margin of the river was fringed with willow, poplar, cotton-wood, and cypress, the delicate fresh green foliage contrasting beautifully with the deep azure sky, and the dark whirling waters of the turbid stream.  It was such a day as all of us may have known, when nature wore the garb of perfect beauty, and the soothing influence is felt and acknowledged gratefully—­joyfully acknowledged by every one accustomed from childhood duly to appreciate, admire, and love the fair and numberless works of God, who,

          —­“Not content
  With every food of life to nourish man. 
  Makes all nature beauty to his eye
  And music to his ear.”

Florence was gazing intently, as each object receded from her view.  They turned an angle in the stream, and drew near a landing, with only a solitary warehouse visible.  She started, and her clasped hands, resting on her husband’s arm, pressed heavily.  He looked down into the flushed face, and said with a smile: 

“Well, Florence, what is it?  Why do you tremble so?”

“Mr. Stewart, I cannot be mistaken:  this is my father’s old landing!  Why do you look so strangely?  Oh! if you knew what painful memories crowd upon my mind, you could not smile so calmly!” and her voice faltered.

Laying his hand tenderly on hers, he replied: 

“You once asked me whereabouts on the river my plantation was situated.  I evaded your question.  You are aware that I inherited it from a bachelor uncle.  He purchased it from your father, and to your old home, my dear Florence, we have come at last.  It is yours again, and I should have told you long ago, but feared you might be impatient of the journey; and then it is pleasant to surprise you.”

Ere Florence could speak the mingled emotions of her heart, the boat stopped, and the jangling bells warned them to lose no time.

Mr. Stewart placed her on the bank, and beckoning to a coachman mounted on a large heavy carriage, opened the door, assisted her in, and then cordially shaking the outstretched hand of the servant, inquired if all were well at home?”

“Oh yes, sir! all well except your mother.  She has had the asthma, but is better.  But ain’t you going to let me look at your wife?  You put her in as if I wan’t to see my new mistress.”