CHAPTER XVII.
NEARING THE VERGE.
At times there come, as come there ought, Grave moments of sedater thought.
When fortune frowns, nor lends our night One gleam of her inconstant light: And hope, that decks the peasant's bower, Shines like the rainbow through the shower.
-- CUNNINGHAM.
Robert Stevens was warmly greeted by his mother and sister on his return from Massachusetts.

He had grown to a handsome young man, whose daring blue eye and bold, honest face seemed born to defy tyrants.

Rebecca, his sister, was a beautiful maiden, just budding into womanhood.

She possessed her father's quiet, gentle, modest demeanor with her mother's beauty.

Her great dark eyes were softer than her mother's, and her face and contour were perfections of beauty.
"How glad I am to see you! Oh, how you have grown!" were among the exclamations of his mother.
Robert noticed a great change in her.