, you may go now."

She recognized the voice, and with a cry of joy jerked the door open
just as the carriage rolled away. And the next instant Clara Day was in
her arms.

"Oh, my darling! my darling! my darling! is this really you? Really,
really you, and no dream?" cried Marah Rocke, all in a flutter of
excitement, as she strained Clara to her bosom.

"Yes, it is I, sweet friend, come to stay with you a long time,
perhaps," said Clara, softly, returning her caresses.

"Oh, my lamb! my lamb! what a joyful surprise! I do think I shall go
crazy! Where did you come from, my pet? Who came with you? When did you
start? Did Le Noir consent to your coming? And how did it all happen?
But, dear child, how worn and weary you look! You must be very tired!
Have you had supper? Oh, my darling, come and lie down on this soft
lounge while I put away your things and get you some refreshment," said
Marah Rocke, in a delirium of joy, as she took off Clara's hat and sack
and laid her down to rest on the lounge, which she wheeled up near the
fire.

"Oh, my sweet, we have been so anxious about you! Traverse and myself!
Traverse is still at St. Louis, love, getting on slowly. He has written
to you every week, and so, indeed have I, but we neither of us have had
so much as one letter in reply. And yet neither of us ever doubted your
true heart, my child. We knew that the letters must have been lost,
miscarried or intercepted," said Marah, as she busied herself putting
on the tea-kettle.

"They must, indeed, since my experience in regard to letters exactly
corresponds with yours! I have written every week to both of you, yet
never received one line in reply from either," said Clara.

"We knew it! We said so! Oh, those Le Noirs! Those Le Noirs! But, my
darling, you are perfectly exhausted, and though I have asked you a
half an hundred questions you shall not reply to one of them, nor talk
a bit more until you have rested and had refreshment. Here, my love;
here is Traverse's last letter. It will amuse you to lie and read it
while I am getting tea," said Marah, taking the paper from her bosom
and handing it to Clara, and then placing the stand with the light near
the head of her couch that she might see to read it without rising.

And while Clara, well pleased perused and smiled over her lover's
letter, Marah Rocke laid the cloth and spread a delicate repast of tea,
milk toast and poached eggs, of which she tenderly pressed her visitor