e bewildered expression; but Miss Mewlstone crept up to
her, and touched her timidly.

"My bonnie Magdalene!" she exclaimed; "don't let the ill thoughts
come; drive them away, my poor dear. Look at me. Did old Barby ever
deceive you? There is no fresh trouble, my pretty. In his own good
time the All-Merciful has had mercy!"

Mrs. Cheyne's hand dropped down to her sides, but her brilliant eyes
showed no comprehension of her words.

"Why did you frighten me like that?" she repeated, rocking herself to
and fro; and her voice had a high, strained tone in it. "There is no
trouble, but your face is pale, and there are tears in your eyes; and
look how your hand shakes! Miss Challoner--Phillis, what does she
mean? Barby, you are a foolish old woman; your wits are gone."

"If they are gone, it is with joy!" she sobbed. "Yes, my precious one!
for sheer joy!" but then she broke down utterly. It was Phillis who
came to the rescue.

"Dear Mrs. Cheyne, I think I could tell you best," she began, in her
sweet sensible voice, which somehow stilled Mrs. Cheyne's frightful
agitation. "There has been some news,--a letter that has been lost,
which ought to have arrived months ago. We have heard about it this
afternoon." She stopped, for there seemed to be a faint sound of
footsteps in the hall below. Could he have followed them? What would
be the result of such imprudence? But, as she faltered and hesitated,
Mrs. Cheyne gripped her arm with an iron force:

"A letter from Herbert! Did he write to me? oh, my darling! did he
write to me before he died? Only one word--one word of forgiveness,
and I will say heaven indeed is merciful! Give it to me, Barby! Why do
you keep me waiting? Oh, this is blessed, blessed news!" But Miss
Mewlstone only clasped her gently in her arms.

"One moment, my dearie! There is more than that. It is not a message
from heaven. There is still one living on earth that loves you! Try
and follow my meaning," for the perplexed stare had returned again.
"Say to yourself, 'Perhaps, after all, Herbert is not dead. Nobody saw
him die. He may be alive; he may have written to me----" She stopped,
for Mrs. Cheyne had suddenly flung up her arms over her head with a
hoarse cry, that rang through the house:

"Herbert! Herbert! Herbert!"

"I am here,--Magdalene! Magdalene!" A tall figure that had crept
unperceived through the open hall door, and had lurked unseen in the
shadow of the portiere, suddenly dashed into the roo