ust gone into the day-nursery at the time.

Fortune was a stern woman, somewhat over fifty years of age. She was
American by birth, and had lived with Mrs. Delaney since Iris was
born. Mrs. Delaney was also American, which may have accounted for
some of her bright fancies, and quiet, yet sweet and quick ways.
Fortune was very fond of the children after her fashion, which was,
however, as a rule, somewhat severe and exacting. But to-day, in her
bitter grief, she sank down on the nearest chair, and allowed them all
to crowd round her, and cried bitterly, and took little Orion in her
arms and kissed him and petted him, and begged of each child to
forgive her for ever having been cross or disagreeable, and promised,
as well and as heartily as she could, never to transgress again in
that manner as long as she lived.

While the others were sobbing and crying round Fortune, Iris stood
silent.

"Where is father?" she said at last, in a very quiet but determined
voice.

Fortune glanced round at the grave little girl in some wonder.

"Miss Iris," she said, "you are not even crying."

"What do tears matter?" answered Iris. "Please, Fortune, where is
father? I should like to go to him."

"He is locked up in his study, darling, and could not possibly see you
nor anyone else. He is quite stunned, master is, and no wonder. You
cannot go to him at present, Miss Iris."

Iris did not say another word, but she looked more grave and more
thoughtful than ever. After a long pause she sat down in her own
little chair near the open window. It was a very lovely day, just as
beautiful as the one which had preceded it. As the child sat by the
window, and the soft, sweet breeze fanned her pale cheeks, an
indescribable longing came over her. No one was particularly noticing
her. She crept softly out of the room, ran down some passages, and at
last found herself once more mounting the turret stairs to the tower.
A moment later she had entered the octagon room where she and her
mother had talked together on the previous day. The windows were wide
open, the pretty room looked just as usual, but mother's sofa was
vacant. Iris went straight over to one of the open windows, knelt
down, and put her little elbows on the ledge.

"Yes, mother," she said, speaking aloud and looking full up at the
bright blue sky, "I promise you. I promised you yesterday, but I make
a fresh, very, _very_ solemn promise to-day. Yes, I will be a mother
to the others;