r. Mortimer spirited her father off to London, for
they all came in a bunch to the farm; Mrs. Mortimer also accompanied the
gentlemen; but when the business which took them there was arranged,
they were to return to keep holiday with Mrs. Weston and Inna.

Meanwhile, the little girl introduced her mother to Madame Giche and her
nieces, and showed her, at her aged friend's request, the fine old
house, took her to the picture-gallery, to hear the story of Madame
Giche's son, who broke her heart; and if Mrs. Weston's very soul was
stirred within her, hearing the sad tale and looking at its poor dead
subject's face, nobody knew it--she kept it to herself. Then back came
the three from London, like happy children, to join the rest.

"With his house full of company, the doctor felt bound to come out of
his shell to entertain them," as Mr. Barlow remarked to Oscar.

But Dr. Willett was quite equal to playing host, and taking the lead in
all the clever talk going on at his table, between his old friend, who
slily looked amused--an artist, a gentleman with a rich wife, and a
beauty--and two ladies; the younger members hearing, and saying
nothing, but wondering at Uncle Jonathan's ease and eloquence. But there
came a break to this; Madame Giche would like Inna to bring her artist
father and his friend to the Owl's Nest, to be introduced to her, and to
see the pictures, some of which were supposed to be good.

So one day they all went, Inna feeling the importance of the part she
had to play, and hoping she should come out of it all gracefully. Ah!
she need not have disquieted herself. Sweetly gracious was Madame Giche,
wrapped about with a black lace shawl, sitting by the wood fire in the
tapestried room, and rising in her stately way when Inna led the
gentlemen in, holding a hand of each, and saying--

"Madame Giche, this is papa, and this is Mr. Mortimer."

Little dreamt she what would follow, nor they either. Inna fancied she
heard her aged friend murmur, like an echo, her last word, "Mortimer!"
as she glided from them, to stand by her side, then----

"Hugh!" they all heard that: 'twas like a musical wail of gladness; and
Madame Giche sank into her high-backed chair--like a snowflake was her
face for whiteness--and fainted.

"She is dead! Madame Giche is dead!" sobbed the little girl, but Long,
whom they hastily summoned, said--

"No, miss; 'tis only a faint," and asked if the gentlemen would carry
her to her chamber,