pe and read it. Then, to their astonishment, she turned first a
fiery red, and afterward white as a sheet. Then she sprang to her feet
saying, 'Oh!' in a sort of stifled voice. Everyone jumped up too, some
so quickly that they knocked over their chairs and asked if anything
dreadful was the matter. Then, all of a sudden, she toppled over and
slipped to the floor in a dead faint."

"Didn't I _tell_ you so, long ago!" exclaimed Cynthia. "I _said_ she
probably fainted!"

"Yes, you were right. Well, two or three began to chafe her hands and
face, and the rest sent the servants flying for smelling-salts and
vinegar. Everything was confusion for a few minutes, till she presently
came to. Then they all began again to question her about what was the
matter, but she wouldn't tell them. She just said:

"'I've had bad news, dear friends, and it has made me feel quite ill. It
is something I cannot speak about. I hope you will not think me
thoroughly inhospitable, if I go to my room for a while.' They all told
her she must certainly go and lie down, and that they would leave
immediately. She begged them not to hurry, but of course they saw that
it wasn't best to stay, since she wouldn't let them do anything for her.
So, fifteen minutes later they were all driving away in the carriages
which had remained for them at the house. And--" here Joyce paused
dramatically,--"not one of them, except my great-aunt's friend, Mrs.
Durand, ever saw her again!"

"But--but--" began Cynthia.

"Wait," said Joyce. "I haven't finished yet! Of course, all of them were
crazy to know what happened, but most of them never did,--not till long,
long afterward, anyway. There was one that did know soon, however, and
that was Mrs. Durand. Two nights afterward, Mrs. Durand was astounded to
have Mrs. Collingwood arrive at her house in New York, and beg to be
allowed to stay there a day or two. She was dressed entirely in black,
and carried only a small grip. Of course, Mrs. Durand took her right in,
and that night Mrs. Collingwood told her what had happened.

"But first, I must tell you that Mrs. Collingwood had a son--"

"_What?_" gasped Cynthia, staring up at the girlish picture.

"Yes, a son! And not a baby, either, but a fine, handsome young fellow
of seventeen. Great-aunt Lucia says that Mrs. Collingwood was married
when she was only seventeen, and that she was thirty-five when all this
happened. But she looked much younger. So that accounts for our