“Ill!” Jenny became pale.

“Yes, very ill.  But he is better now.”

“Where is he?”

“In his own chamber.”

For a moment Jenny hesitated whether to go up alone, or in company with Mark.  She would have preferred going alone; but fearing that, if she parted even thus briefly from Mark, her strong influence over him, by means of which she had brought him, almost as a struggling prisoner, thus far, would be weakened, and he tempted to turn from the house, she resolved to venture upon the experiment of entering Mr. Lofton’s sick chamber, in company with his grandson.

“Is he sitting up?” she asked of the servant.

“He’s been sitting up a good deal to-day, but is lying down now.”

“He’s much better?”

“Oh, yes!”

“Come,” said Jenny, turning to Mark, and moving towards the stairway.  Mark followed passively.  On entering the chamber of Mr. Lofton, they found him sleeping.

Both silently approached, and looked upon his venerable face, composed in deep slumber.  Tears came to the eyes of Mark as he gazed at the countenance of his grandfather, and his heart became soft as the heart of a child.  While they yet stood looking at him, his lips moved, and he uttered both their names.  Then he seemed disturbed, and moaned, as if in pain.

“Grandfather!” said Mark, taking the old man’s hand, and bending over him.

Quickly his eyes opened.  For a few moments he gazed earnestly upon Mark, and then tightened his hand upon that of the young man, closed his eyes again, and murmured in a voice that deeply touched the returning wanderer—­

“My poor boy!  My poor boy!  Why did you do so?  Why did you break my heart?  But, God be thanked, you are back again!  God be thanked!”

“Jenny!” said the old man, quickly, as he felt her take his other hand and press it to her lips.  “And it was for this you left me!  Dear child, I forgive you!”

As he spoke, he drew her hand over towards the one that grasped that of Mark, and uniting them together, murmured—­

“If you love each other, it is all right.  My blessing shall go with you.”

How mild and delicious was the thrill that ran through each of the hearts of his auditors.  This was more than they expected.  Mark tightly grasped the hand that was placed within his own, and that hand gave back an answering pressure.  Thus was the past reconciled with the present; while a vista was opened toward a bright future.

Little more than a year has passed since this joyful event took place.  Mark Clifford, with the entire approval of his grandfather, who furnished a handsome capital for the purpose, entered, during the time, into the mercantile house of his father as a partner, and is now actively engaged in business, well sobered by his severe experience.  He has taken a lovely bride, who is the charm of all circles into which she is introduced; and her name is Jenny.  But few who meet her dream that she once grew, a beautiful wild flower, near the banks of the Hudson.