"London, Eng., April 3, 1874
"Such a joyful thing has happened, dear mother, that I could scarcely believe my own ears when (now more than two weeks ago) Bruce came in and told me General Winans was in London, not dead at all, and only just returned from France, where he had remained until thoroughly cured of the wound which had left him for dead on the dreadful battle-field. It seems that he was removed from the field by a poor and devoted young French soldier, a private in the ranks, and carried to a secure though humble place, where he was attended by a skillful old Frenchwoman who dressed his wounds with real surgical skill, and took care of him through a long period of convalescence, he having two protracted relapses and nearly losing his life, sure enough. The reason he was so carefully concealed by the old woman and her nephew, was through fear of the Germans, as the war ended with that battle, you remember, and the conquerors had things all their own way. When quite recovered he rewarded the kind couple and left for London, and had been here but two days when Bruce met him quite accidentally on the street. You remember his old feud with Bruce, dear mother?
"Well, my dear husband tells me that he drew up his fine, princely figure, and would have passed him without recognition had not Bruce, with a resolution quite foreign to his easy nature, absolutely button-holed the proud fellow, and told him, all in a breath, about his marriage and his bridal-tour, and invited him to see Aunt Conway and me at our hotel. Of course, in view of Bruce's being married, he forgave him all he at present held against him, and came, nothing loth, to see us, and was so delighted—not more than I, though, I will admit. We kept him all the evening, and heard from his own lips the romantic story of his joining and fighting in the army of France, and of his rescue from death by the young French private. I used to be half afraid of him, but now I think, mother, he is the most fascinating and admirable gentleman I ever met—you know such an odor of romance and adventure clings about him.
"He had a perfect torrent of questions to ask me about Grace. All of them I answered to the best of my ability, but I was not, I confess, prepared for his great agony when I told him she was at Memphis, nursing the fever patients there. Mother, I never saw a human being turn so pallid as he did. He sat quite still for a while, his hand pressed to his brow, and only once I heard a sort of moan from his lips, that sounded like, 'Oh, Grace, you have indeed avenged yourself!' I hastened to assure him that the fever had abated, and the nurses were all returning to their homes, and I expected Grace, as also you and brother Willie, would soon return to Norfolk. And, mother, I felt so sorry for him that I at once blurted out the story of the little boy, Earle Willoughby. Oh, such happy, incredulous excitement I never saw in any one before. Bruce had to tell it all over to him. I was both laughing and crying during my relation of it—'silly child!' as Aunt Conway says. Well, he and Bruce entered at once upon an investigation that has resulted in restoring hope and happiness to two that I love, and in making warm friends and allies of those two men who once stood up on Norfolk's outskirts to try to murder each other, with fiery hatred in their hearts.
"But time has changed all that. My Bruce is a better man to-day than he was then, and General Winans is reasonable, less fiery, less causelessly jealous. Painful experience has taught both of them wisdom.
"Oh, mother, it is all as I expected. I am so happy in the happiness that is to come to our beautiful Grace; my whole heart throbs with such joyous emotion,
"'I could laugh out as children laugh
Upon the hills at play.'
"General Winans and Bruce lost no time in calling on the Willoughbys to acquaint them with their suspicions. They found them away from home. Investigation disclosed the fact that they had been summoned to the mad-house of which their daughter, poor Christine Moreland, was an inmate. She was very ill, and, as I am told many lunatics do, recovered sense and reason when the cold hand of death was laid upon her. She sent for her parents to confess the crime, the full knowledge and remembrance of which first rushed upon her in that hour. Bruce and General Winans followed them at once to the asylum, which was an elegant and private one in high repute. They had no need to tell their story. Sir Robert and Lady Marguerite knew all, were in possession of all proofs, and in all their desolation gave back the child, without an objection, to its rejoicing father. He has his own again, and lacks but Grace's presence and forgiveness to make him the happiest man in the world.
"But, mother, there seems some reactionary power in the laws of this world that makes the sorrows of some the prices of others' happiness. The grief of that lonely old pair, so suddenly despoiled of all they looked on as kindred to them is something mournfully pathetic. Old, and sad, and worn, as they looked, bending over the costly casket that held poor little Mrs. Moreland, at the imposing funeral, I shall never cease to compassionate them. Little Paul, or Earle, as he will continue to be called, and his father, are their guests now, as they cannot bear to give up the little boy until the last moment. But Sir Robert, in his attachment to his little adopted son, intends making him his sole heir, since the property is not entailed, and there is no kin. General Winans has promised—with the proviso of his wife's consent—that his son shall always bear the name of Earle Willoughby Winans. General Winans has promised to visit them this summer again, bringing his wife, if she will come. Gracie, you know, mother, has never been abroad, and General Winans wants to bring her over here for an extended tour.
"How my pen has run on jumbling up statements in happy, inextricable confusion! But, mother, you must all be at home in May, for in May we shall all be with you once again—oh, joyful thought!
"But, mother, Gracie, dear, patient, long-suffering darling, is not to know anything about the child until we come home. General Winans wishes it. He wants to bring her the joyful tidings in his arms, and who can blame him? Mrs. Conway thinks it perfectly natural and right, so does Bruce, so do I—and do not you think so, too, dear mother?
"The rest of the story—about General Winans being alive, and coming home so soon—I want her to know. And, mother, I would like brother Willard to tell her of it. He will take such pleasure in it! was always so fond of her, so desirous of her happiness, that I want the good news to come to her from his lips, because I think he would like it to be so.
"Dear, dear brother Willie! Mother, I think sometimes that he is not as happy as the rest of us. He has never said so—it may be only my fancy—but my heart holds always such a great, unutterable tenderness for him, and a sort of sacred reverence, as for some unspoken grief of his. How happy I am that, God willing, I shall soon be folded again to his dear, loving heart!
"Mother, do try to induce Gracie to take proper rest and sleep, so as to regain her bright looks before we got home. She is never less than lovely, but I want her to be at her best for the eyes of her husband. For, mother, I do like him so much—indeed, he is a fine, frank, noble follow, one whom you will like, I know. And he and Bruce are quite good friends, so that there will be no more envyings, jealousies, and such like, but the brooding dove of peace over our hearts and homes, I trust, forever.
"I am so happy at thought of seeing you all again, and at all that has happened, that I am too nervous, too glad, or too something, to write more. Aunt Conway, looking over my shoulder at this, says it is hysterical. I am not sure it is not; so, mother, dear, try to evolve order out of this confused chaos of facts, and we will tell the story more lengthily and intelligibly when we all get home, which, thank Heaven, will be very soon. I have had no letter from you for a month. Why is it?
"With tendered regards to all, I am your devoted daughter,
"Lulu C. Conway.
"P. S.—General Winans would write to Grace, but fears repulse in spite of my assurances to the contrary. He tells me he must ask pardon only on his knees for the irreparable suffering he has caused her gentle spirit. Perhaps he is right—I cannot tell. Once more with fondest love, au revoir.
"Lulu."
