st do during
her absence, which she thought would not exceed a week at the utmost.
The guests invited for Wednesday must be notified; the women's choir
must be requested to excuse her non-appearance; Sir Jasper Gordon, her
most faithful admirer, an elderly Englishman, must learn that she had
gone away; but, above all, writing tablet in hand, she directed him
how to provide for her poor, what assistance every individual should
receive, or the sums of money and wood which were to be sent to other
houses to provide for the coming winter. She also placed money at the
majordomo's disposal for any very needy persons who might apply for help
while she was out of reach.

Before the November sun had set she entered the La Porta travelling
carriage. The chaplain, whom she referred to the major-domo for any
matters connected with the poor, gave his blessing to the departing
traveller, whose cheerful vivacity, after so many severe trials, he
admired, and whose "golden heart," as he expressed it, had made her dear
to him. The servants gathered at the door of the house, bowing silently,
and her "Farewell, till we meet again!" fell from her lips with joyous
confidence.

While on the way she reflected, for the first time, what John could
desire of her for the "weal and woe of his life." It was impossible to
guess, yet whatever it might be she would not fail him.

But what could it be'

Neither during the long night journey nor by the light of day did she
find a satisfactory answer. True, she had not thought solely of her
son's entreaty. Her whole former life passed before her.

How much she had sinned and erred! But all that she had done for the man
to whom the posthorses were swiftly bearing her seemed to her free from
reproach and blameless. Every act and feeling which he had received from
her had been the best of which she was capable.

Not a day, scarcely an hour, had she forgotten him; for his sake she had
endured great anguish willingly, and, in spite of his mute reserve--she
could say so to herself--without any bitter feeling. How she had
suffered in parting from her child she alone knew. Fate had raised her
son to the summit of earthly grandeur and saved him from every clanger.
Providence had adorned him with its choicest gifts. When she thought of
the last account of him from the Duke of Ferdinandina, it seemed to her
as if his life had hitherto resembled a triumphal procession, a walk
through blooming gardens.

What