back
to his eyes, the old friendly tones to his voice. But, like
every one else, she saw but little of him; and, in fact,
Graham in these days, a grim, melancholy, silent man, brooding
over his own thoughts, his own hopes, plans, disappointments
perhaps, was no very lively addition to a family party.

There was one small person, however, whom our Madelon at once
inspired with a quite unbounded admiration for her. A few
evenings after her arrival, some one knocked at her bedroom
door as she was dressing for dinner; she opened it, and there
stood Madge in the passage, her hands full of red and white
daisies.

"I have brought you some flowers, Cousin Madelon," said the
child shyly.

"They are beautiful," said Madelon, taking them from her;
"won't you come in? I will put some of them in my hair."

She sat down before the looking-glass, and began arranging
them in her hair, whilst Madge stood and watched her with
wide-open eyes.

"They are out of my own garden," she said presently.

"I might have guessed that, they are so pretty," said Madelon,
turning round and smiling at her; it was in the girl's nature
to make these little gracious speeches, which came to her more
readily than ordinary words of thanks. "I like them very
much," she went on; "they remind me of some that grew in the
convent garden."

"Were you ever in a convent?" asked Madge, with a certain awe.

"Yes, for two years, when I was about as old as you are."

"And were there any nuns there?" asked Madge, whose ideas were
not enlarged, and who looked upon a nun as the embodiment of
much romance.

"To be sure," answered Madelon, rather amused; "they were all
nuns, except some little girls who came every day to be taught
by them."

"Then you were at school there?" said Madge.

"Not exactly; my aunt was the--what do you call it?--Lady
Superior of the convent; that was why I went there."

"And did you like it?" inquired Madge, who was apparently of
opinion that such an opportunity for gaining exceptional
information should not be wasted.

"I don't know," answered Madelon; "I don't think I did at the
time; I used to find it very dull, and I often longed to be
away. But the nuns were very kind to me; and it is pleasant to
look back upon, so quiet and peaceful. I think we don't always
know when and where we are happy," she added, with a little
sigh.

She sat leaning against the table, her head resting on her
hand, thinking over the past--as she