Iola sat in a large, lonely
parlor, waiting for the servant to show her to a private room. She had
never known a great sorrow. Never before had the shadows of death
mingled with the sunshine of her life.

Anxious, travel-worn, and heavy-hearted, she sat in an easy chair, with
nothing to divert her from the grief and anxiety which rendered every
delay a source of painful anxiety.

"Oh, I hope that he will be alive and growing better!" was the thought
which kept constantly revolving in her mind, until she fell asleep. In
her dreams she was at home, encircled in the warm clasp of her father's
arms, feeling her mother's kisses lingering on her lips, and hearing the
joyous greetings of the servants and Mammy Liza's glad welcome as she
folded her to her heart. From this dream of bliss she was awakened by a
burning kiss pressed on her lips, and a strong arm encircling her.
Gazing around and taking in the whole situation, she sprang from her
seat, her eyes flashing with rage and scorn, her face flushed to the
roots of her hair, her voice shaken with excitement, and every nerve
trembling with angry emotion.

"How dare you do such a thing! Don't you know if my father were here he
would crush you to the earth?"

"Not so fast, my lovely tigress," said Bastine, "your father knew what
he was doing when he placed you in my charge."

"My father made a great mistake, if he thought he had put me in charge
of a gentleman."

"I am your guardian for the present," replied Bastine. "I am to see you
safe home, and then my commission ends."

"I wish it were ended now," she exclaimed, trembling with anger and
mortification. Her voice was choked by emotion, and broken by smothered
sobs. Louis Bastine thought to himself, "she is a real spitfire, but
beautiful even in her wrath."

During the rest of her journey Iola preserved a most freezing reserve
towards Bastine. At length the journey was ended. Pale and anxious she
rode up the avenue which led to her home.

A strange silence pervaded the place. The servants moved sadly from
place to place, and spoke in subdued tones. The windows were heavily
draped with crape, and a funeral air pervaded the house.

Mammy Liza met her at the door, and, with streaming eyes and convulsive
sobs, folded her to her heart, as Iola exclaimed, in tones of hopeless
anguish:--

"Oh, papa's dead!"

"Oh, my pore baby!" said mammy, "ain't you hearn tell 'bout it? Yore
par's dead, an' your mar's bin drefful s