s to leave us for a short or a long
time she can do so."

"Of coarse she can, my dear; but she is full of sick fancies. And my
advice to you is that you let her go at once. To-morrow morning, if she
wishes."

"Why certainly, Uncle Beresford! I have neither the power nor the will
to prevent her."

"So let it be then, my dear. And now good-night," said the doctor,
taking his candle to leave the room.

Thus the matter was settled.

But the next day old Mrs. Cavendish, Electra, and, in fact, the whole
house, were thrown into a state of consternation at the announcement of
Mrs. Grey's immediate departure.

When or how she had managed to get her personal effects together,
whether she had kept them packed up for the emergency, or whether she
had sat up all night to pack them, I do not know; but it is certain that
by seven o'clock that morning she had three enormous Saratoga trunks
packed, strapped and locked ready for the wagon that she asked for to
take them to the railway station.

It was not until her luggage was in the wagon, and the carriage was
waiting for her at the door, and she herself in her traveling-suit and
hat, that she went to bid the old lady good-bye.

Mrs. Cavendish had been informed by Emma of the intended abrupt
departure of Mary Grey, and she had begun to oppose it with all her
might.

But Emma endeavored to convince her that the change was vitally
necessary to Mary Grey's health and strength.

So now when the traveler entered the old lady's room the latter feebly
arose to her feet, holding on to the arm of her chair, while she
faltered:

"Mary--Mary, this is so sudden, so shocking, so sorrowful, that I almost
think it will make me ill! Why must you go, my dear?"

"Sweet mother--may I call you so?--sweet mother, I will tell _you_ what
I did not like to tell dear Emma, for fear it might distress her; she is
so sensitive, you know!" murmured the siren, sitting down and tenderly
caressing the old lady.

"Tell me then, my love, tell me anything you like," said Mrs. Cavendish,
weeping.

"Well, you know that dear old lady friend in Charlottesville, of whom I
spoke to you a week or so ago?"

"Ah, yes! The bishop's widow, who is reduced to keeping a student's
boarding-house to help support her fifteen children," sighed the ancient
dame.

"Yes, and my dear dead mother's dearest friend. Well, I have heard that
she is in a dying condition and desires above all things to see me
before she depar