Affectionately yours,

Edward.”

Mr. Howland mused for (sic) sometime after receiving the letter; then he turned to his desk, and wrote briefly, as follows—­

“My dear son—­I have your letter enclosing a draft for one thousand dollars.  I thank you for the remittance, but, happily, have received aid from an unexpected quarter, and do not now need the money.  With this I return the draft you sent.  I regret any injustice I may have done you in a former letter, and hope you will forgive a too warm expression of my feelings.

Yours, &c.,

Andrew Howland.”

This letter was dispatched by the Southern mail, and then Mr. Howland turned his steps homeward.  He felt strangely.  There was a pressure on his bosom; but it was not the pressure of trouble that had rested upon it so long, but a pressure of conflicting emotions, all tending to soften and subdue his feelings, to bend the iron man, and to mould his spirit into a new and better form.  With a lively pleasure was he looking forward to the second meeting with Andrew in the presence of his mother, but he did not know how great a pleasure, beyond his anticipations, was in store for him.

On arriving at his house, Mr. Howland opened the door and went in.  He had passed along the entry but a few paces, when some one stepped from the parlor.  He paused, and looked up.  It was his daughter Mary who stood before him.  In her arms was a sweet little girl, and on her face was a smile, the warmth and light of which were on his heart in an instant.

“Father!”

It was the only word she uttered.  The tone of her voice, and the expression of her face told all he wished to know.

“My dear child!” fell warmly from the lips of Mr. Howland, as he grasped his daughter’s hand, and then kissed tenderly both her own lips and those of her babe.

“Dear father!” murmured Mary, as she leaned her head, in tears, upon his breast.

At this moment there was a movement of feet in the parlor, and the husband of Mary presented himself.  An open, frank, forgiving expression was on his face, as he came forward and offered his hand, which was instantly seized by Mr. Howland, in a hearty pressure.  Andrew and his mother joined the group, and, with smiles and pleasant words, made perfect the sphere of happiness.

“My children,” said Mr. Howland, at length, speaking in a trembling voice, “my cup is full to-night.  I must leave you a little while, or it will run over.”

And saying this, he gently disengaged himself, and passed up to his chamber, where he remained alone for over half an hour.  When he joined the family, his manner was greatly subdued, and in his speech there was a softness which none had known before.

In the glad reunion of that evening, how many heart-wounds were healed, how many old scars covered over and hidden!