In which the troubled lady, escaped from the black shadow of Bartram-Haugh, gathers about her the few dear faces spared by Providence, and looks back with trembling gratitude upon dangers whose full shape she can scarcely bear to name. In later peace, amid green hills, household love, and the tender voice of her child, she reads the sorrows and terrors of youth as earthly symbols of a deeper mercy, where loss itself may whisper of reunion beyond the veil.