e is roused from her apathy, and looks an interesting
invalid. Marcia is airy and childish, Madame Lepelletier simply
magnificent, and the bride extremely handsome in dead white silk and
tulle, with clusters of natural rosebuds.

Floyd gives the bride away, and, much moved, breathes a prayer for her
happiness. The vows are said; they come home to an elegant wedding
breakfast, managed by colored waiters who know their business
perfectly. There are some friendly, informal neighborhood calls, and
all is very gay and bright. Eugene, Marcia, and the Brades are going up
the river with them; Mr. and Mrs. Delancy will travel leisurely through
Canada and come down to Newport to be Mrs. Vandervoort's guests for the
remainder of the summer. Madame Lepelletier has some business to
settle, and will rejoin them as soon as possible.

There is very great confusion afterwards, but by dusk matters get
pretty well settled in their olden channel. Madame declares it an
extremely pretty wedding, and praises Laura's self-command, which,
after all, was largely compounded of perfect satisfaction.

And now there will be a lull, and it shall go hard indeed if Madame
Lepelletier cannot use some charm to draw this indifferent man towards
her. She is beginning to hate the child who always rivals her; but
certainly she can circumvent the little thing when she has all her time
to herself and can use her eyes for her own advantage.

It seems odd to have such a small, quiet breakfast-table, to see his
mother in her black gown again, and Gertrude's morning dress tied with
black ribbons. They all talk rather languidly, when an interruption
occurs. Briggs brings in a note for Mr. Grandon.

"An old woman brought it," he announces, "and she is waiting outside
for an answer. She would not come in."

Floyd remarks that it is unsealed. Its contents are brief, but written
in a fine, irregular hand.

"_Will Mr. Grandon come at once to Mr. St. Vincent, who is ill in
bed?_"

* * * * *

Grandon rises suddenly and goes out. On the wide step of the porch sits
the old housekeeper, but she glances up with dark, bright eyes.

"You will come?" she begins, eagerly.

"Yes. When did Mr. St. Vincent return?"

"Last night. He is very ill." Her wrinkled lips quiver and she picks
nervously at her shawl. "They came to New York, but the journey was too
much. He has been there two days with no one but the child, my poor
ma'm's