things for me, and showed me the way. I have no house to live
in; I am alone in the world; I may as well be doing things as staying in
bed, of which I am really very tired. I am writing to my man of business
to take places for Antonia and me on next week's steamer for Paris. I've
half a mind to take Grace Wolfe, too, if she will go."

"I have asked Grace to make her home with us for the present," said Mr.
Montfort, quickly. "Next year I expect to take her and Margaret abroad
together."

Mrs. Peyton laughed again. "I can't even have her! Well--never mind. I
love her, but she frightens me. She might have catalepsy again,--though
I rather think that was a clever device for getting me out of bed,--and
I want to forget everything connected with sickness. But--John--there is
something you can do for me. This girl risked her life to save my
jewels, the playthings I have tried to amuse myself with these many
years. I want you to sell them for me, and give her the money."

"Sell your jewels, Emily!"

"Yes. I never want to see them again." She shuddered slightly, but her
voice was firm and steady.

"They are all here, in this basket. Lock them up now, and the next time
you go to town sell them, and invest the money for Grace Wolfe. Will you
do this for me, John? It is the only thing I shall ever be likely to ask
you."

"Indeed I will, Emily!" said Mr. Montfort, speaking with much more
warmth than he had hitherto shown. "It will be a grateful commission.
Shall I look?--these things are of great value, Emily. There are
thousands of dollars' worth of trump--of trinkets here."

"So much the better for Grace!"

"There is nothing you would like to keep? None of these diamonds?"

"No; I detest diamonds! When a complexion begins to go--never mind!
Stay, though! Margaret liked that pink pearl; sweet little prim
Margaret, who has given me most of the little pleasure I have had these
last three years. You'll let her have it, John? I beg you to let me
give it to her!"

"Surely, surely, my dear Emily. It is a beautiful gem, and I am glad
that my Margaret should have something to remember you by while you are
gone. And now shake hands, for I must be off."

"You are going away?"

"For the night only. I was to have spent two or three days in town on
business, but hurried home on hearing of the fire. I shall be back
to-morrow, or next day at latest."

"And--I may stay here till then, John?"

"My dear Emily, I earnestly beg that