r ones
have gone--no, those first days are _not_ the worst."

And somehow, as she said so to herself, there seemed to fall over Auntie
a feeling of calm and peacefulness such as she had known little of for
long. Then came before her the remembrance of "grandmother dear's"
sweet, quiet face as she had seen it the last time, in the beautiful
calm of holy death. "It is _wrong_ to fret so, my child," the well-known
voice seemed to say. And listening to it Auntie fell into a quiet and
profound sleep.

It was curious--a sort of coincidence, I suppose, one would call
it--that this peaceful sleep came to poor Auntie just at the moment at
which Bernard, on his way home, espied by the light of the flaring
gas-lamp the yellow poster with its "fifty francs reward" in big black
letters!

When Auntie woke she saw at once by the light that it was much later
than her usual time. But she felt so quiet and peaceful and
rested--almost as one does on waking from the first real sleep after an
illness--that she tried to fancy she was still half-dreaming, and that
it could not yet be time to get up. A slight noise--a _very_ slight
noise it was--at the side of her bed made her at last, though
reluctantly, open her eyes again and turn slightly round. Quick ears and
watchful eyes were on the alert--

"Oh, Auntie--Auntie dear--you are awake at last. You have had a nice
sleep?"

"Very--a very sweet sleep, my darling," said Auntie, smiling, for the
last night's impressions were strong upon her. She was not going to make
herself unhappy any more about that which could not be cured.

Molly's bewildered eyes turned towards her sister.

"She looks so happy," she whispered. "Can she know, can she have heard
us talking?"

No--she had heard nothing--but _something_, some indefinable instinct
now seemed suddenly to awaken her suspicions.

"Molly--Sylvia!" she exclaimed, starting up. "What is it? What are you
saying? It cannot be----" But before she had time to say more she was
interrupted.

"Yes, it _can_ be--it _is_," they called out. And something, a softly
shining something, round and smooth, with a smaller shining thing
attached to it, dangled above her eyes.

"The watch, Auntie--grandmother dear's own old watch, and the locket! A
man--such a nice civil poor man--found them, and has brought them back,
while you were still asleep."

"And we could not bear to waken you. You looked so tired and white, and
were sleeping so quietly. But it