ng quite her own self, only a little paler
than usual; her uncle sitting by her, his hand on her arm. Peggy
fluttered in and out of the room, entirely recovered from the effect of
her fall the day before, and proud beyond measure of having charge of
Margaret, who last night had been watching and tending her. Peggy's
nursing was of doubtful quality; already she had baptised Margaret
twice,--once with gruel, again with cologne, when the cork with which
she had been struggling came out suddenly, deluging her patient with
fragrance.

But her good will was so hearty, her affection so ardent and so anxious
to prove itself, that Margaret had not the heart to deny her anything,
and submitted to having her hair brushed in a style that was entirely
new to her, and that made her wink at each vigorous stroke of the brush.

Rita had not been seen since the night before, save by Elizabeth, who
pronounced her well, but "a little upset, Miss!" and Elizabeth's face
was a study in repression as she spoke.

"And the boys, Uncle?" Margaret asked, when she was assured of Rita's
safety. "What have you done with them?"

Mr. Montfort laughed.

"Poor boys!" he said. "Poor lads! they have had a hard time of it."

"Oh, do tell me!" cried Margaret.

"Why, they are all right; the boys are all right!" said Mr. Montfort.
"It is that little monkey over there," nodding toward Rita's room, "who
has made all the trouble. They have been fighting, it is true, and have
been in the mountains with the insurgents. Very interesting their
account of it is, too. If I were thirty years younger--but that is not
the point. They were sent to New York by their chief on private
business; something of importance, but perfectly legitimate,--nothing to
do with arms or anything of the kind. Well, Carlos did not tell Rita the
object of his coming, and she instantly saw fire and gunpowder, treason
and plot,--in short, cooked up a whole melodrama to suit herself,--and
believed it, I have no doubt, an hour after she invented it. She wrote
Carlos mysterious letters, imploring him to come to her secretly; that
her fate and that of her country depended upon his faithfulness and
silence; that she was surrounded by spies--"

"Poor Peggy and me!" cried Margaret. "And you, too, Uncle John! She has
really had painful suspicions of you."

"No doubt, no doubt! but in my case she had a right to suspicions. We
will come to that presently. In short, the boy got the impression tha