fashioned style. Ogilvie did not know them, but
the woman paused when she saw him, came forward, dropped a curtsey and
said:

"I beg your pardon, sir."

"What can I do for you?" said Ogilvie. He tried to speak courteously,
but this delay, and the presence of the old couple whose names he did
not even know, irritated him.

"If you please, sir, you are Mr. Ogilvie?"

"That is my name."

"We know you," continued the old woman, "by the likeness to your
little daughter."

The mention of Sibyl caused Ogilvie now to regard them more
attentively.

"May I inquire your names?" he asked.

"Holman, sir," said the woman. "This is my husband, sir. We heard only
yesterday of dear little Missie's illness, and we couldn't rest until
we came to enquire after her. We greatly 'opes, sir, that the dear
little lamb is better. We thought you wouldn't mind if we asked."

"By no means," answered Ogilvie. "Any friends of Sibyl's, any real
friends, are of interest to me."

He paused and looked into the old woman's face.

"She's better, ain't she, dear lamb?" asked Mrs. Holman.

Ogilvie shook his head; it was a quick movement, his face was very
white, his lips opened but no words came. The next instant he had
hurried down the road, leaving the old pair looking after him.

Mrs. Holman caught her husband's hand.

"What do it mean, John?" she asked, "what do it mean?"

"We had best go to the house and find out," was Holman's response.

"Yes, we had best," replied Mrs. Holman; "but, John, I take it that
it means the worst. The little lamb was too good for this earth. I
always said it, John, always."

"Come to the house and let's find out," said Holman again.

He took his old wife's hand, and the strange-looking pair walked down
the avenue. Presently they found themselves standing outside the
pretty old-fashioned porch of lovely Silverbel. They did not know as
they walked that they were in full view of the windows of the Chamber
of Peace, and that eager blue eyes were watching them, eager eyes
which filled with love and longing when they gazed at them.

"Miss Winstead!" cried little Sibyl.

"What is it, dear?" asked the governess.

Sibyl had been silent for nearly a quarter of an hour, and Miss
Winstead, tired with the bazaar and many other things, had been
falling into a doze. The sudden excitement in Sibyl's voice now
arrested her attention.

"Oh, Miss Winstead, they have come."

"Who have come, dear?"

"The Holmans,