Some errors of style, which had been pointed out by critics as marring her earlier writings, Edna had endeavored to avoid in this book, which she humbly offered to her countrywomen as the best of which she was capable.

From the day of its appearance it was a success; and she had the gratification of hearing that some of the seed she had sown broadcast in the land fell upon good ground, and promised an abundant harvest.

Many who called to bid her good-bye on the day before the steamer sailed, found it impossible to disguise their apprehensions that she would never return; and some who looked tearfully into her face and whispered “God-speed!” thought they saw the dread signet of death set on her white brow.

To Edna it was inexpressibly painful to cross the Atlantic while Mr. Hammond’s health was so feeble; and over the long farewell letter which she sent him, with a copy of her new book, the old man wept.  Mrs. Murray had seemed entirely estranged since that last day spent at Le Bocage, and had not written a line since the orphan’s return to New York.  But when she received the new novel, and the affectionate, mournful, meek note that accompanied it, Mrs. Murray laid her head on her son’s bosom and sobbed aloud.

Dr. Howell and Mr. Manning went with Edna aboard the steamer, and both laughed heartily at her efforts to disengage herself from a pertinacious young book-vender, who, with his arms full of copies of her own book, stopped her on deck, and volubly extolled its merits, insisting that she should buy one to while away the tedium of the voyage.

Dr. Howell gave final directions concerning the treatment of Felix, and then came to speak to the governess.

“Even now, sadly as you have abused your constitution, I shall have some hope of seeing gray hairs about your temples, if you will give yourself unreservedly to relaxation of mind.  You have already accomplished so much that you can certainly afford to rest for some months at least.  Read nothing, write nothing (except long letters to me), study nothing but the aspects of nature in European scenery, and you will come back improved to the country that is so justly proud of you.  Disobey my injunctions, and I shall soon be called to mourn over the announcement that you have found an early grave, far from your native land, and among total strangers.  God bless you, dear child! and bring you safely back to us.”

As he turned away, Mr. Manning took her hand and said: 

“I hope to meet you in Rome early in February; but something might occur to veto my programme.  If I should never see you again in this world, is there anything that you wish to say to me now?”

“Yes, Mr. Manning.  If I should die in Europe, have my body brought back to America and carried to the South—­my own dear South, that I love so well—­and bury me close to Grandpa, where I can sleep quietly in the cool shadow of old Lookout; and be sure, please be sure, to have my name carved just below Grandpa’s, on his monument.  I want that one marble to stand for us both.”