more than
six months ago."

"Oh, poor father," cried Louis, while Mrs. De Vere continued, "It
was not a severe attack, but it has impaired his health somewhat.
You knew, of course, that his house and farm were to be sold."

"Our house, our old home! It shall not be!" and the tears glittered
in Louis' eyes, while, turning to Mrs. De Vere, Maude whispered
softly, "His wife has ruined him, but don't let us talk of it before
Louis."

The lady nodded, and when at last they were alone, told all she knew
of the affair. Maude Glendower had persisted in her folly until her
husband's property was reduced to a mere pittance. There was a heavy
mortgage upon the farm, and even a chattel-mortgage upon the
furniture, and as the man who held them was stern and unrelenting,
he had foreclosed, and the house was to be sold at auction. "Why has
mother kept it from us?" said Maude, and Mrs. De Vere replied,
"Pride and a dread of what you might say prevented her writing it, I
think. I was there myself a few weeks since, and she said it could
do no good to trouble you. The doctor is completely broken down, and
seems like an old man. He cannot endure the handsome rooms below,
but stays all day in that small garret chamber, which is furnished
with your carpet, your mother's chair, and the high-past bedstead
which his first wife owned."

Maude's sympathies were roused, and, fatigued as she was, she
started the next morning with her husband and brother for Laurel
Hill. Louis seemed very sad, and not even the familiar way-marks, as
he drew near his home, had power to dissipate that sadness. He could
not endure the thought that the house where he was born and where
his mother had died should pass into the hands of strangers. He had
been fortunate with his paintings, and of his own money had nearly
two thousand dollars; but this could do but little toward canceling
the mortgage, and he continued in the same dejected mood until the
tall poplars of Laurel Hill appeared in view. Then, indeed, he
brightened up, for there is something in the sight of home which
brings joy to every human heart.

It was a hazy October day. The leaves were dropping one by one, and
lay in little hillocks upon the faded grass. The blue hills which
embosomed the lake were encircled with a misty veil, while the
sunshine seemed to fall with a somber light upon the fields of
yellow corn. Everything, even the gossamer thistle-top which floated
upon the autumnal air, conspi