e late Mademoiselle Margot
Revere."

So Margot was dead, had gone to join her loved ones where there are no
distinctions between rich and poor.

Stunned, and half incredulous, I told the maid to show him in, and in a
few minutes a tall, dark, foreign looking man stood in the bright,
flower-scented room which (it being recess), I occupied in Miss
Melford's absence.

I rose, bowed, and asked him to be seated, then, with an effort, said:

"M'sieu, I am Gloria, Margot's chum, and chosen sister. Tell _me_ about
her."

The story was a short one, we had neither of us a desire to dwell upon
the details. The island had been subject to the fury rain of a
quenchless volcano. Whole villages had been overwhelmed and buried in
the burning lava, and hundreds had met with a fiery death. In the midst
of the mad confusion, Margot's calm presence and example inspired the
strong, reassured the terrified, aided the feeble, and helped many on
the way to safety. How many owed their lives to her, her cousin could
not say, but that it was at the cost of her own, was only too terribly
true. She had helped her cousin's family on to the higher ground, which
ensured safety from the boiling lava, only to discover that one little
one had been left behind peacefully sleeping in her cot, the little
baby who had been christened Gloria at Margot's desire in memory of me.
It was a terrible moment to all but Margot, and to her it was the moment
of a supreme inspiration. She dashed down the hill before she could be
stayed, though the ground shook under her feet, and the burning sea of
fiery rain was pouring down the valley below. She reached the house and
seized the infant, and started with frenzied speed to ascend the hill
again. Her cousin, who had seen to the safety of the others of his
family, had now started out to meet her. They saw each other and hurried
with all the speed they could to meet. Within touch a terrific explosion
deafened them as the father seized his child, and Margot, struck by a
boulder belched from the throat of the fierce volcano, sank back into
the fiery sea.

As M. Levasseur ceased, there came through the open window the silvery
sound of the minster bells. They were playing the lovely air,

Angels ever bright and fair,
Take, O take, me to your care.

It came to me that they had taken Margot in a chariot of fire, and I
seemed to see her in an angel throng with a palm branch in her hand.

My favourite trinket is