The lower half of the window was thrown open and a head appeared, where the moonlight fell clearly upon it.  It was the head of a beautiful woman, framed in thick, silken yellow hair, the eyes deep blue, and the skin of the wonderful fairness so often found in that state.  The face was that of a woman about thirty-seven or eight years of age, and without a wrinkle or flaw.

“Mother!” called Dick in a low voice as he stepped from the shadow of the pillar.

There was a cry and the face disappeared like a flash from the window.  But he had only a few moments to wait.  Her swift feet brought her from the room, down the stairway, and along the hall to the door, which she threw open.  The next instant Mrs. Mason had her son in her arms.

“Oh, Dick, Dicky, boy, how did you come!” she exclaimed.  “You were here under my window, and I did not even know that you were alive!”

Her tears of joy fell upon his face and he was moved profoundly.  Dick loved his beautiful young mother devoutly, and her widowhood had bound them all the more closely together.

“I’ve come a long distance, and I’ve come in many ways, mother,” he replied, “by train, by horseback, and I have even walked.”

“You have come here on foot?”

“No, mother.  I rode directly over your own smooth lawn on one of the biggest horses you ever saw, and he’s tied now between two of the pine trees.  Come, we must go in the house.  It’s too cold for you out here.  Do you know that the mercury is about ten degrees below zero.”

“What a man you have grown!  Why, you must be two inches taller than you were, when you went away, and how sunburned and weather-beaten you are, too!  Oh, Dicky, this terrible, terrible war!  Not a word from you in months has got through to me!”

“Nor a word from you to me, mother, but I have not suffered so much so far.  I was at Bull Run, where we lost, and I was at Mill Spring, where we won, but I was unhurt.”

“Perhaps you have come back to stay,” she said hopefully.

“No, mother, not to stay.  I took a chance in coming by here to see you, but I couldn’t go on without a few minutes.  Inside now, mother, your hands are growing cold.”

They went in at the door, and closed it behind them.  But there was another faithful soul on guard that night.  In the dusky hail loomed a gigantic black figure in a blue checked dress, blue turban on head.

“Marse Dick?” she said.

“Juliana!” he exclaimed.  “How did you know that I was here?”

“Ain’t I done heard Miss Em’ly cry out, me always sleepin’ so light, an’ I hears her run down the hail.  An’ then I dresses an’ comes an’ sees you two through the crack o’ the do’, an’ then I waits till you come in.”

Dick gave her a most affectionate greeting, knowing that she was as true as steel.  She rejoiced in her flowery name, as many other colored women rejoiced in theirs, but her heart inhabited exactly the right spot in her huge anatomy.  She drew mother and son into the sitting-room, where low coals still burned on the hearth.  Then she went up to Mrs. Mason’s bedroom and put out the light, after which she came back to the sitting-room, and, standing by a window in silence, watched over the two over whom she had watched so long.