wife, the father of married sons and daughters,
the grandfather of growing or grown-up boys and girls, could not, by any
effort of imagination, put himself in the wrong wife's case; so he only
answered by a deprecating bow.

"Well, now I must be going, if I mean to pick them dried currants and
raisins for the plum pudding!" said the intruder, and she left the room as
suddenly and unceremoniously as she had entered.

"What do you think of our guest, Dr. Peters?" inquired Mrs. Force.

"A rough, untrained, but well-meaning, woman, I should say," replied the
rector.

"A mere good-natured animal, I should call her," added the squire.

"My dear, have you got through with your accounts?" inquired the lady.

"Yes, for the present."

"Then let us go into the parlor. It is so much pleasanter there. Come, Dr.
Peters."

They left the room, and went into the cheerful, little parlor, usually
occupied by Mrs. Force, and having her worktable and low chair in the
corner between the open wood fire and the side window, with its pleasant
view of the lawn and the woods.

Scarcely were they seated, however, when little Elva came in, first gave
her hand to the old minister, who drew her toward him and kissed her
cheek, and then went to her mother, and said:

"Mamma, Odalite is wide, wide awake now. She has had some tea, and she
wants to see you."

"Very well, dear; I will go to her. You will excuse me, Dr. Peters?"

The rector replied with a bow and a smile.

The lady took the hand of the little girl, and they left the room
together.

When they reached Odalite's chamber, Mrs. Force was surprised to see her
eldest daughter up and dressed, and sitting in the armchair before the
fire.

"My darling, I am so glad to see you so well recovered!" exclaimed the
lady, pressing a kiss upon the forehead of her child, and then drawing a
chair and seating herself by her side.

"Mamma," said Odalite, "I seem to have been in a trance, or a dream, ever
since you gave me that composing draught! What was it--opium, hasheesh,
amyle--what? And, mother, how much was real and how much was dream that I
have passed through? It seems like the phantasmagoria of a midnight
orgie--through which only one thing seems to stand out clearly--that I
have had 'some outlet through thunder and lightning' into freedom! Mother,
is it true? Am I free?"

"Yes, dearest dear, you are free!" replied the lady, in deep emotion.

"Oh, thank Heaven! Thank Heaven! Oh,