ly because she missed her
young companions, whose society had made the lonely house so cheerful,
and partly because she half expected news with the return of Jerome.

She wandered up and down the deserted drawing-room, and then went
upstairs to the chambers just vacated by her young friends, where she
found Sarah, the chamber-maid, engaged in dismantling beds and
dressing-tables preparatory to shutting up the "spare rooms" for the
rest of the season.

All this was very dreary and dispiriting.

She left these apartments and would have gone into the old lady's room,
only that she knew her grandmother was at this hour taking the first of
her two daily naps.

As she turned to go down-stairs she glanced through the front hall
window and caught a glimpse of the traveling-carriage, with Jerome
perched upon the box, slowly winding its way around the circular avenue
that led to the house.

CHAPTER XI.

A SURPRISE.

She ran down-stairs briskly enough now, and ran out of the front door.

"Any letters to-day, Jerome?" she inquired.

"No, miss," answered Jerome, shaking his head.

"Oh, dear, how depressing!" sighed Emma, as she turned to go into the
house.

But a sound arrested her steps--the opening of the carriage-door. She
turned and saw Jerome standing before it and in the act of helping some
one to alight from the carriage.

Another moment and a tall, thin, dark-eyed woman, with very white hair,
and clad in the deepest widow's weeds, stood before Miss Cavendish.

By instinct Emma recognized her aunt. And she felt very much relieved,
and very much rejoiced to see her, even while wondering that she should
have come unannounced either by letter or telegram.

As for Jerome, he stood wickedly enjoying his young lady's astonishment,
and looking as if he himself had performed a very meritorious action.

"Miss Emma Cavendish, I presume?" said the stranger, a little
hesitatingly.

"Yes, madam. And you are my Aunt Fanning, I am sure. And I am very glad
to see you," answered Emma Cavendish.

And she put her arms around the stranger's neck and kissed her.

"Dat's better'n letters, a'n't it, Miss Emmer?" inquired Jerome,
grinning from ear to ear, and showing a double row of the strongest and
whitest ivories, as he proceeded to take from the carriage various
packages, boxes and traveling-bags and so forth.

"Yes, better than letters, Jerome. Follow us into the house with that
luggage. Come, dear aunt, let us