e. I am a splendid listener, as my dear Fergus used to say."

"Something wonderful," repeated Olivia, breathlessly. "Why, Aunt
Madge, I feel as though I were in the third volume of a sensational
novel. What do you think? Robert Barton, whom Marcus found starving
on a doorstep, is Mr. Gaythorne's long-lost son, Alwyn."

It was evident that Mrs. Broderick was intensely surprised, for she
quite flushed up with excitement.

"Go on. Tell me everything from the beginning. I will not interrupt,"
she said, quickly, and Olivia, nothing loath, gave a graphic account of
the afternoon at Galvaston House.

"Is it not grand, Aunt Madge?" she finished, but Mrs. Broderick's voice
was not so steady as usual as she answered,--

"So the blessing has come to him, and he will have his heart's desire;
but there is a heavy load laid on him, too, poor, stricken man. Oh,
Livy, we must just pray for him until he is able to pray for himself."

"His brain is really much clearer to-day," returned Olivia; "he spoke
quite sensibly to Marcus, only his speech is a little affected. He
asked why his son had left the house, and then Marcus told him that he
was weak and needed rest, and that I was taking care of him.

"'Crampton will see that he has all he requires,' he said, and Mrs.
Crampton came over of her own accord last night. Do you know, Aunt
Madge, I felt so ashamed of her seeing him in that bare little room,
and I tried to explain to her that it was only a sort of disused lumber
room, but she soon made plenty of suggestions for his comfort. She has
sent a pair of thick curtains for the window, and a big rug that nearly
covers the floor, and a softer mattress and another pillow. And now
the room looks so cosy. Marcus quite stared when he went up this
morning. It was quite touching to see Mr. Alwyn with her. He actually
kissed her and called her his dear old 'Goody.' I find she has lived
with them ever since they were quite children. I think she was Olive's
nurse. And the fuss she made over him, calling him her 'poor, ill-used
lamb.' It almost made me cry to hear her."

"Poor fellow, he has certainly had his fill of husks."

"Yes, indeed; but Mrs. Crampton is determined to kill the fatted calf
now. The things she sends over would feed half a dozen prodigal
sons,--game and soups, and jellies and fruit. She says her master has
given her _carte blanche_, and that the doctor has laid a great stress
on nourishment, so of cou